


We Accept the Love we Think we Deserve - Febuwhump 2021

by polaroid15



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, But some Fluff too!, FebuWhump2021, Febuwhump, Found Family, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Kidnapping, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, i really put them through it in this one haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 41,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polaroid15/pseuds/polaroid15
Summary: The one where Parker luck is proven to be the worst luck.But hey, at least he's got the best family in the world to help him through it all.Or, my febuwhump 2021! Buckle up!
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 642
Kudos: 580





	1. Mind Control

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is guys!!! I'll be posting everyday of February, mostly likely in the afternoon :) This is my first time doing a big chaptered series like this and man oh man did I have fun with it haha. If you're reading this- thanks for joining me on this journey! I'm PUMPED! Title comes from Stephen Chbosky's 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower'. 
> 
> I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it <33 Love you lots!!

Peter doesn’t realize that something has gone terribly wrong until the last alien hits the ground. 

At first he’s excited, body thrumming with adrenaline as he sidesteps over their victory. The fight had been, for lack of a better term, a satisfying study break. He takes a moment to stretch out the tightness in his back and shoulders, relishing in the cold air as his heart rate calms. 

Satisfied, he sweeps his eyes across their small battlefield in search of a familiar flash of red and gold. Though the fight had started on the ground, they’ve ended up on the rooftop of some ritzy skyscraper, the city stretched far beneath them and painted gold in the dark light of the moon. 

Aside from all the alien guts, it’s not a bad view.

“Tony?”

The man had called him just over an hour earlier asking for his help in scrambling up a couple of rouge aliens from their last big mission. Being close by and more than ready to assist his hero, Peter had been in his suit and by Tony’s side in a matter of minutes, hardly believing his luck. Somehow, despite everything they’ve been through, he still managed to get nervous every time he fought alongside his hero.

To his relief, however, the fight went off without a hitch. Unlike their normal brand, neither sustained any injuries, ‘finishing off the fight with flare’, as Tony would say. 

But where is he now?

“Tony?” Peter calls again, slipping off his mask and looking around with enthusiasm. “Where’d you go?” 

His voice carries and dies in silence. 

“Hello?” 

Confused and a little unnerved, Peter spins on his heels in a full 360 and debates putting his mask back on to ask Karen for Tony’s location. It’s out of character for Tony to vanish like this, and it makes his stomach tighten in worry. 

“Mr. Stark!” 

“Here.” 

Peter jumps and turns towards the noise, feeling relief leak into his limbs. “Oh. H-hey man. There you are.” 

Tony doesn’t say anything, stiff as a board and levitating a few feet off the ground. There’s a chunk of metal missing from his helmet, ripped clean through so his right eye and nose are showing. 

“You’re mask-” 

“Peter Parker?” 

“What? Yeah Tony. Are- are you okay? You look a little off. Did one of the aliens hurt-” 

But there is no ‘ _you_ ’, because before Peter can finish his sentence, Tony is flying towards him at an alarming speed, repulsors glowing bright. Startled, Peter jumps out of the way and shouts in alarm. “Tony! What the-” 

A fiery blast of hot energy hits the ground between his feet. Yelling out once more, Peter scrambles back, hands raised in frantic defense at the sudden rush of heat. “Tony! Stop! What are you _doing_?” 

He doesn’t get an answer. As Tony progresses forward, Peter tries desperately to connect with the man, but his eyes are as blank and empty as the night sky behind him. It’s then that it all comes together, and Peter feels his heart stutter in his chest. 

“Oh- oh no. Did you breathe in any gas? Oh God. You did, didn’t you?” 

Another blast of energy is fired towards him. It barely misses his shoulder and the material of his suit begins to smoke. _Not good. So not good_. The aliens were known to produce an aerial toxin that triggers the brain to be particularly inclined to violence. Someone would kill their own _family_ if exposed to it. 

And right now, Peter is the only target. 

Just his luck. 

“Snap out of it Mr. Stark! _Wake up!_ ” 

Peter feels his heel catch on uneven cement and he stumbles, falling hard on his butt and using the momentum to scramble backwards on his hands and feet. The fear hits him now. He feels it in the sharp sting on the back of his tongue and the inability to fully breathe, his spider-sense screaming and making his head spin. He moves to pull on his mask and realizes in detached wonder that he no longer has it in his hand. 

“Peter Parker,” Tony says again, his voice monotonous and void of everything Peter is used to. It’s chilling, and Peter lifts a shaky hand in warning.

“D-don’t come any closer!” 

But Tony does. Without blinking an eye, he closes the distance between them and encloses his gauntleted hand around Peter’s outstretched wrist. Before Peter can comprehend the pain, his web shooter sparks with electricity as the gadget breaks under pressure. He screams as his wrist snaps along with the mechanism and arcs his foot up in a reflexive kick. It hits Tony in the abdomen and succeeds in forcing the man to let go, pushing him back a couple steps. 

Breathing heavily, Peter scrambles away, broken wrist pinned to his chest protectively. He can feel Tony following him closely and gasps when his metal fingers close around his shoulder, halting his escape. 

Peter uses his remaining web shooter to fire a web at Tony’s oncoming fist, pulling the force of it off course so it slams into the concrete at their feet. It breaks like ice around the impact and the shock of knowing it had been directed at _him_ leaves him weak. 

“Tony please-” 

Undeterred, Tony swings his arm with the web out to the side, throwing Peter off his balance. As he stumbles, Tony uses his other hand to throw a hard punch into the boy’s ribs. He hears them crack but hardly feels the pain, tears welling in his eyes.

“This- this isn’t you. Look at me-” 

Peter gasps as his undamaged wrist is pinned against the roof, the metal crushed just like the first. As he screams, Tony finds his eyes, staring blankly and completely unaffected by Peter’s pain. 

“It’s me. It’s- It’s _Peter_. This isn’t you! Fight it!” 

The panic and fear in his body has made him numb. When Tony closes his hand around Peter’s throat, he can barely blink, let alone fight it away. The very real possibility that he’s about to die races through him like lightning. 

“ _T-Tony. Mr. Stark.”_

The pressure on his throat increases as the man lifts him off the ground. Peter manages to lift his hands to the vice grip, fingers curling around Tony’s in an attempt to relieve the strain. It makes his wrists shoot in pain and for a moment, all he can see are stars. 

When his vision clears, he’s hanging by Tony’s hand over a 100 story drop. The city swarms like an anthill beneath them and Peter tightens his hold against Tony’s. His web shooters are shattered. 

If Tony drops him, he _will_ die. 

“Tony,” Peter chokes. With every ounce of being he can muster, he searches Tony’s eyes. Just as before, they hold no resemblance to the man Peter knows. His _hero._ His friend. 

His family. 

“Don’t drop me.” 

The grip tightens so dramatically that Peter thinks his neck will be crushed before he even gets the chance to fall. Despite the pain, he refuses to break his eye contact with his mentor. They glimmer against Peter’s reflection, glassy and distant. 

“Not your fault,” he chokes. It’s hard to speak around the vice grip and nearly impossible to pull together sentences through the thick fog in his head. But he tries, even when his vision tunnels. It’s important. “I- I- forgive you. Don’t- don’t blame yourself, okay?” 

He needs Tony to understand. This could be his last chance, and more than ever, despite hanging above certain death, he knows it to be true. 

“I l-love you.” 

There’s a flicker of recognition in Tony’s eyes. A glimmer of himself that almost has Peter believing that it’s over, that they’ll be okay. 

But then Tony drops him. 

He doesn’t have the breath to scream. 

Though Tony disappears quickly from his view, Peter keeps the man’s face in his mind as the ground races up to meet him. It fills his eyes with tears, the injustice of it all.

Tony will never forgive himself. 

And Peter is going to die. 

The wind rips through him viciously as he plummets. He’s fallen through this same skyline countless times and can hardly believe it’s his last. 

He closes his eyes and sees May’s face beside Tony’s. Ned and MJ’s, too. 

Though he’s never prayed before in his life, the words come to him now. 

_Help them be safe. Help them be okay._

He wants to be brave. He wants it more than anything. 

Eyelids dark, it’s impossible to tell how close he is to the ground. The sounds of traffic draw closer, he thinks he hears a scream. 

The impact is jarring.

It hits him all at once, stealing his air and lighting every broken bone on fire. For one soul wrenching second, he thinks the pain of it is his last conscious thought. That just like that, his short sixteen years have expired into dust.

Then he feels metal arms under his shoulders and thighs, hears through the static the distant roar of repulsors. Swears and sobs echo through it all in a delirious cocktail of grief, and Peter comes to the realization quite slowly that he hasn’t died after all. 

“ _Tony?_ ” It’s weak and breathless, like he’s just hopped off the world’s fastest roller coaster. With the last of his energy, his eyelids separate and he sees Tony’s face, covered in tears and unmistakable horror. 

He had caught him. 

“Tony-” 

They crescent their journey on the top of a different, _much_ shorter building. Peter feels himself being laid on his back and for some reason beyond his current comprehension, can’t find the strength to move from it. 

Above him, Tony has his head in his hands. He’s shaking and Peter tries to reach out towards him, to show him he’s alright, but all he can do is twitch his fingers. 

“Nice- nice catch.” 

Tony’s shoulders still, going dangerously quiet. Peter watches with blurred vision as his face appears from behind his hands, the eye Peter can see bloodshot and brimming with an emotion he’s too tired to fully recognize. 

“Pete-” 

“Not your fault,” Peter breathes, exhausted. He closes his eyes and almost can’t find the strength to open them again. His body feels like the plane he had crashed in Coney Island. 

“It _is_ my fault,” Tony says. There’s tension and remorse coloring his voice, which tremors violently. “Christ, Peter. _I hurt you_.” 

“You- you saved me.” 

“No!” 

“You always save me.” 

“Peter-” 

“S’okay.” He tries for a smile, but it must look like a grimace because Tony stifles another noise of regret. “I’m okay. I promise.” 

“Oh kid-” 

With a rush of vertigo, Peter feels himself being pulled up into Tony’s arms. It’s only until he feels the warmth of Tony’s skin that he realizes he’s removed himself from his suit. It’s nice, familiar, and the last of Peter’s resolve vanishes like smoke. 

His hero. 

His friend. 

And in some ways, his _father_. 

If he hadn’t known it before, he sure as hell knows it now. 

“I love you too, kiddo,” Tony whispers, and Peter feels their hug tighten, as if it’s the man’s sole intention of never letting go. 

And maybe, Peter thinks, it is. 


	2. "I can't take this anymore"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Tony help Peter through a particularly bad sensory overload at school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's day 2! Thanks for all the feedback and love on the first chapter. Hope you like this one too :)

Peter feels like a raging dumpster fire. 

Scratch that- the world's _biggest_ raging dumpster fire. 

As soon as his eyes open he knows it’s going to be a bad day. The dull light of the morning makes his eyes sting and burn, and from where he lays pressed between his sheets, he can hear countless conversations throughout their apartment complex, all blurring together and causing an endless stream of inescapable noise. 

Although barely conscious, there’s already a fierce headache building up between his eyes. He closes them and covers his ears with his pillow, willing it all to dissipate into a quiet nothingness. Then May walks in, bright, cheery and oblivious. Her perfume, though normally faint, nearly has him choking on air and her wake up call reverberates through his head so loudly, it has him seeing stars. 

It’s all too much. Just the thought of moving makes him want to cry. 

Though he doesn’t really have a choice. 

Dragging himself out of bed and into clothes that he knows will do nothing but irritate his skin is nothing short of torturous. He skips breakfast, unable to stand the smell of it, and leaves before May can pull him into a hug. 

Walking is a blur. Somehow he makes it out of his complex and onto the street. He must look crazy, he thinks distantly, jumping at noises only he can hear and flinching against the stimulus. He can taste the pollution in the air, can feel each grain of cement under his shoes, notices every thread on his clothes and how it rubs against his skin. 

It’s a miracle that he makes it to school, though he can hardly see straight when he does. He manages to find his desk and collapses against it, trying to keep as still as possible with his eyes squeezed shut. The pain in his head builds as it picks up on every footstep, every laugh, every slammed locker. 

He’s going to die. He’s _sure_ of it. 

“Hey Peter.” 

An audible gasp leaves Peter’s chest in one burning gust of air as Ned slips into his seat beside him. Trying to play it off, Peter cracks open his eyes and begs the tears that collect in them not to fall as he looks unevenly over at his friend. “H-hey Ned,” he whispers. 

Immediately, Ned’s eyes narrow. He opens his mouth and closes it knowingly when Peter winces. Then, seeming to weigh his options, presses forward, soft voice barely audible through the chaos in his head. “You shouldn’t be here dude.” 

“I’m okay,” Peter says. 

“ _No_. Just look at how you’re grabbing the desk. You’re going to break it.” 

Looking down, Peter sees he is _indeed_ clutching the lip of the desk, fingers white and bloodless at the grip. Surprised and a little embarrassed, he lets go. His hands ache fiercely and he closes them into tight fists instead, nails biting at his palms. The sharp pain distracts him from the great-infinite-everything-else, and he welcomes it. 

“I’m serious,” Ned says. “You need to leave before the bell rings-”

But as if summoning it from the universe, it does. The shrill mechanical alarm cuts through the air and Peter bites on his lip to keep from screaming, tasting copper. By the time the third ring ends Peter’s body is physically shaking and he feels dizzy enough to believe he could fall out of his desk. Knowing Ned is staring at him and refusing to meet the gaze, Peter wraps his hands carefully around the desk frame to keep himself vertical. 

The class is the worst of his life. 

He tries to take notes, but ends up snapping three of his pencils into halves. He doesn’t comprehend a single word of the lecture and by the time the final bell rings he feels like he’s being crushed under concrete all over again. Ned places a hand around his bicep where it burns like fire, and before Peter can draw another stilted breath he’s being pulled up and out of the room. He tries to walk straight but fails incredibly. Ned is silent through it all, taking Peter’s weight and bypassing the stares of their classmates with grace. 

He’s a good friend. 

“Brace yourself.” 

Before Peter can Sherlock what Ned is referring to, there’s bright light in his eyes and a million different smells and sounds from the outside world attack him in every direction.

It’s his breaking point. 

Ned tries to catch him as he falls but Peter ends up sprawled in the grass all the same, blind and dry heaving. He hears each frantic beat of Ned’s heart, smells each bead of sweat on both of their skin, is aware of every insect crawling through the grass underneath them. 

“ _I can’t take this anymore_ ,” Peter chokes. His vision still hasn’t returned but he’s too relieved to be scared. 

If Ned responds, he can’t decipher it. Instead, he feels Ned drag him up and away from his sick until they’re leaning against the wall of the school. Peter lets his head loll against the warm brick, delirious out of his mind and lets his senses overtake him, too weak to fight it anymore. 

It could be minutes or hours, but Peter hears another heartbeat join Ned’s beating equally frantic. He smells motor oil and expensive aftershave and knows before he can even _attempt_ clearing his vision that Tony is with them. 

“Peter? Pete can you hear me?” 

_Yes_. 

“Peter?” 

“I’ve never seen it this bad,” Ned whispers. “He’s barely conscious-” 

“Okay, okay. I can fix this. Help me get him to the car.” 

Again, Peter is lifted. The contact makes him whimper, though he doesn’t fight against it, hardly able to hold up his own head. Clean leather and sharp air fresheners cut into his awareness as he’s maneuvered into the backseat. He feels Tony slide in beside him and the door shutting behind them, cutting out the light. 

“You’re okay,” Tony whispers. “I’m going to put something on your head. Is that okay?” 

Slowly, Peter nods. He grimaces as he feels Tony pull something over his head and within a half second, everything becomes nothing. 

He must sway, because he feels strong hands catch his shoulders. “Woah there kiddo, easy does it.” The hands pull him back until he’s laying against the seat, head tilted back towards the ceiling and feeling more relieved than he ever has in his life. “Can you hear me Petey?” 

“Yeah,” Peter croaks, and lets out a thready laugh when it doesn’t feel like acid leaving his throat. 

“Good, that’s good. How’re you feeling?” 

“B-better. Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Tony says. “Though you definitely succeeded in giving me and your friend Ted a good scare. _Christ_ , kid. You're lucky he called me! What were you thinking going to school with a sensory overload like that?” 

Peter doesn’t really have the energy to articulate, lost in the blissful numbness of his relief. He sags further into the upholstery, relishing in everything he _can’t_ feel. “Sorry,” he murmurs eventually, “thought I could handle it.” 

“Well obviously not,” Tony says. He’s annoyed, but worried too. Peter can tell. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, after all. “You’ve got to start taking better care of yourself Pete. We’ve talked about this! When your senses go haywire, use the goddamn mask we designed. It’s not exactly rocket science-” 

“I know,” Peter breathes, regret stinging at his eyes. “I know.” 

Tony sighs. It fills the space between them and sits heavy. “Then why do you keep doing this to yourself? You _know_ I have a heart condition. It’s not exactly good for my health to see my kid unresponsive and suffering. Pepper will chew you out for this later, I swear to God-” 

But the threat is empty. Despite it all, Peter feels his lips turning into a smile. His exhausted mess of a brain is fixated on one of Tony’s words. If he weren’t half way to oblivion he never would’ve had the guts to repeat it. “Your kid?” 

There’s a short silence. “Shut up. You’re delirious. It’s nap time.” 

Peter’s smile persists as he feels Tony click a seatbelt over his chest. He hears the door open, hears Ned’s panicked voice and Tony’s assuring one. He wants to lean over towards them, to thank Ned for saving the day, but somewhere along the way he loses his grip on reality all together. 

By the time Tony closes the door, Peter is asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants to join me in the Ned fan club? Haha. Honestly he's the best.   
> Thanks for reading! Come hang out on tumblr with me @polaroid15   
> See you tomorrow for "Imprisonment" :)


	3. Imprisonment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do I need to do?” 
> 
> “Simple, really,” the man replies. He steps closer to Peter, gaze hardening. “Though I set up the board, the game is in your hands, Stark. Find the boy before it’s too late, and collect your prize.” 
> 
> Another pause. 
> 
> “How much time do I have?” 
> 
> “ _Until he bleeds out_.” 
> 
> \---
> 
> Or, Peter is kidnapped by a crazy guy in a clown mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAY THREE LET'S GO!! This might be one of my favourites...and it's a little on the longer side! Enjoy! :)

**Day Three -- Imprisonment**

The room is _freezing_. 

Waking up is horrible, the cold seeming to penetrate every cell in Peter’s body before his eyes even have their chance to open. When by some miracle they do, he’s met with a dark and unfamiliar room. A basement, by the looks of it, stripped down to its cement foundation. 

It’s January, a very unfortunate time to be kidnapped and brought to an undeveloped basement, Peter thinks. Why his captor couldn’t have waited to kidnap him in a warmer month is beyond his current delirious thought process, or why they hadn’t at least let him keep his jacket. Hell, they even took his _shoes_ , which is beyond rude. Every time he breathes out a thin vapor rises up to bite at his eyes. 

Or maybe the sting is just tears. 

He tries to move, to warm up his shaking body, but it’s practically impossible in his current situation, tied and gagged tightly in every possible way to a thick wooden chair. They must’ve pumped his veins with something to keep him docile, because no matter how much he squirms, he remains stuck. 

He chokes on a breath behind the gag, panicked, and pulls harder. 

But he can barely hold up his head, let alone break free. 

_Oh man._

Peter lays back against the chair and floats for a minute, trying to calm his heart. Tony will come for him, he thinks. 

He always does. 

It’s uncomfortable and lonely, but Peter refuses to be scared. He bites hard on the gag between his teeth to keep them from chattering and stares at the closed door he faces, waiting for his attacker to show themself. 

The waiting is the worst part, he decides. 

He thinks of Tony again, wondering if the man knows about his absence as he wiggles his wrists around the tightly knotted rope keeping his hands trapped together behind him. It burns and aches but combats the cold, so he continues to struggle with as much vigor as his weakened body can handle. 

His mind searches desperately for the explanation of his current predicament, the memory connecting him to this awful place, but it evades him like smoke. 

A violent shiver rips through his body. He can feel it from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. _God_ he hates winter. If someone didn’t come for him soon, he’d be nothing more than a Peter popsicle. 

Before the imagery of the thought can really sink in, the door opens so suddenly that Peter’s shivering stops short for him to jump. Hot adrenaline courses through his veins and causes tears spring up into his eyes at the contrast of it all. The person who enters is tall and broad, their face obscured by a graphic clown mask. A new kind of shiver runs down Peter’s spine like an electrical current and he tips his chin up in defiance, growling unintelligible words at his kidnapper through the thick cloth pulled between his lips. 

“Hello, Peter.” 

There must be some form of speech disguiser built into the mask, because the voice that greets him is choppy and mechanical. It fills the empty space between them and Peter narrows his eyes into slits, forcing his heart to keep its normal tempo. 

_Don’t show that you’re scared. Don’t show that you’re scared-_

“I do hope you’re comfortable,” the man says, the silicon skin of the clown twisted up into a manic smile. “I can’t wait for the fun we’ll have.” 

Peter mumbles into his gag again, feeling powerless without his voice. He twists his wrists again violently, the adrenaline giving him some strength, but it’s not nearly enough. 

He’s trapped. 

“Now, now, I know what you must be thinking. What is a boy like me doing in a place like this? Let me assure you, Mr. Parker, that this is no random circumstance. I have been watching you for quite some time.” 

Even if Peter could talk, he’d be speechless. Fear rushes through him with the force of a tidal wave, stinging at his eyes and rising acid in his throat. The man tilts his crazed, masked head to the side as if in intrigue and lets out a high pitched mechanical laugh. Despite his stubborn resolve, Peter flinches. 

“Tony Stark doesn’t have many people in his inner circle,” the man continues gleefully, “and I have come to find that _you_ are one of them! A weak, defenseless teenager. The opportunity was simply too wonderful to pass up on!” 

Not Spider-Man, then. 

Good. 

“Tell me, Peter. What will it take to bring our so-called superhero to his knees?” The man steps closer, smelling like cigarette smoke and leather. “How many _fingers?_ ” 

Peter gasps into the gag as the man’s gloved hands curl around his throat, closing tight. “My, my Peter,” the man laughs, stroking his thumb across Peter’s jugular. “Your heart is beating fast. Are you afraid?” 

Slowly, Peter shakes his head. The grip on his throat tightens and the man’s face swoops down towards him until they’re only inches apart. When he speaks again, it’s only a whisper. “ _I don’t believe you_.” 

With that, his captor releases his hold, shoving Peter’s head back violently. It takes every ounce of self control not to show his discomfort and he settles once more to glaring at the masked man with as much malice as he can muster. 

“Shall we give your beloved hero a call?” 

Uncaring for Peter’s response, the man pulls out a dull black flip phone from his pocket. He must have Tony’s number memorized because he types it in with ease. Peter wonders how he found it. 

It rings three times, and even though his captor is standing a couple feet away, Peter hears Tony’s voice fill the receiver with perfect clarity. 

“This is Stark.” 

As if hardly believing his luck, the clown man raises an animated fist into the air and cackles out a high pitched laugh. It would’ve been funny in a different circumstance, but now, it’s far from it. When the laugh dies and the man collects himself, he brings the phone close to the mask where his lips are hidden behind, savouring every word. “Hello Stark.” 

A long pause meets the greeting. Peter can picture Tony in his mind’s eye, weighing his options with a weary annoyance. Finally, his voice carries through the receiver. “Look, frankly I don't have the time for this. Either tell me what you want or find another billionaire to piss off.”

“Very well.” The mechanical voice continues to grate under Peter’s skin, unnerving him to the bone. It’s almost worse than the cold. “I’ll keep it short and sweet. For if anyone is to know the true value of time, it’s me. And, of course, our darling mutual friend Peter Parker.” 

“ _Peter?_ ” Even if Tony were trying to mask his surprise, it’s failing. Peter grinds his nails into the soft skin of his hand that he can reach, feeling a vicious swipe of guilt run through him in icy fragments. “How do you-” 

“Know him?” The man finishes. His crazed eyes turn to Peter from behind the mask, attaching to his frame with a repulsing intensity. “We’ve been able to spend a lot of quality time together, Peter and I. I see why you love him.”

The next time Tony speaks, it's in anger. Peter flinches at the sound and tries to control his breathing. “If you lay one single _hand_ on that boy I swear to God I’ll skin you alive.” 

“Tut, tut. I would speak more kindly to me if I were you.” 

A measured breath, the softening of tone. 

“Fine. What do I need to do?” 

“Simple, really,” the man replies. He steps closer to Peter, gaze hardening. “Though I set up the board, the game is in your hands, Stark. Find the boy before it’s too late, and collect your prize.” 

Another pause. 

“How much time do I have?” 

“ _Until he bleeds out_.” 

Without further warning, the man pulls out a handgun, aims it at Peter, and pulls the trigger. At first, Peter thinks the man missed. Then, as the ringing echo of the shot fades from his ears, he feels the pain in one giant tidal wave of agony and _screams_. 

Even with the gag, the sound is piercing. The man laughs robotically and claps his hands in quick succession. The shot had hit him in the top of his right thigh, the blood warm and slick as it gushes from the wound. He refuses to look at it, keeping his wobbly vision trained stubbornly at his attacker. 

“Well this has been great fun, Stark, but sadly it’s time for me to go,” he says, returning his ear to the phone. “I would hurry if I were you.” 

Before he leaves, the man walks up beside Peter once more, phone still connected and in hand. He strokes Peter’s hair, the plastic smile unfailing, and hooks his fingers around Peter’s gag. With a surprising gentleness, he pulls it loose, then settles the phone against Peter’s shoulder where he pins it there with his head. 

“I hope he hears you take your last breath,” the man says. “Goodbye, Peter Parker.” 

Peter’s chest is heaving. Before his captor leaves, he snakes his hand down to Peter’s thigh, fingers hovering over the rapidly bleeding wound. He pushes his fingers down into the bullet hole and Peter screams again, ripping his throat raw. All he sees is white, and though his lucidity ebbs like the tide, he focuses everything on keeping the phone pressed against his shoulder. Static runs through the device, but if it forms any words, it's simply beyond his comprehension. 

When his vision clears, the man in the clown mask is gone. 

And he’s alone. 

“ _Peter?_ ” 

Gasps turn into sobs. Peter can’t help it. 

He’s finished with being strong. 

“T-Tony. _Tony!_ ” 

There’s a heavy exhale of pent up air on the other end of the line and Peter tries his hardest to focus on it, on anything to distract himself from the absolute burning _torture_ in his leg. 

“You’re- you’re okay kiddo. You’re going to be fine. I’m on my way to get you right now okay?” 

“It- it _hurts-_ ” 

“I know bud, I know. You’ve been so brave. I just need you to hang on a little longer.” 

Peter throws his head back against his chair, blinking out stars as unwanted tears leak out of the corners of his eyes like hot wax. The ceiling spins harshly when he looks at it, so he closes his eyes and tries to keep his sobs from erupting. 

“ _Parker!_ ” 

“Wha?” For a moment, Peter thinks he’s being saved. He lifts his head, careful to keep the phone in place. But when his eyes adjust to the spinning room, it’s empty. 

“You checked out there for a minute,” Tony says. Again, Peter hears the fear lacing his mentor’s tone. It should make him feel scared, he thinks, but it doesn’t. Not really. 

“S’ry.” 

“It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m almost there, okay?” 

“M’kay.” 

“I’m not getting any reports for Karen,” Tony says, his voice more gentle than Peter’s ever heard it. “Are you in your suit bud?” 

“No.” 

“Can you reach the wound? Put pressure on it?” 

More tears fall out of Peter’s eyes. He wishes they would stop. “N-no. My hands are- are tied.” 

“Okay,” Tony says again, voice even. “Just hang on. Stay awake. Five minutes, I promise.” 

“Mmm.” 

“How was school today Pete?” Tony asks urgently. “Tell me all about it.” 

Surprised, Peter tries to remember. If Tony’s asking, it must be important. Searching for the memories feels equivalent to walking through quicksand or punching through a brick wall. 

“Peter?” 

“Um. Had a chemistry test. Was good.” 

“That’s great,” Tony says. “What else?” 

The burning pain in Peter’s leg has faded significantly, replaced by a blissful numbness. He knows it’s bad but is too relieved to dwell on it, sinking into the reprieve with open arms. Distantly, he can hear his blood dripping against the floor, can feel it soaking into his socks. His head wobbles and barely catches the phone in time before it slips.

It’s almost peaceful, he thinks. 

“Ben was shot,” Peter says dizzily. “‘S how he died.” 

Tony’s breaths are short and laboured in Peter’s ear. “Peter Benjamin Parker-” 

“‘M not scared anymore.” 

“I’m two minutes out. Stay awake. _God_ please stay awake!” 

Peter hums, and despite the clear instruction, feels his eyelids flutter. He wishes he could see Tony’s face once more, to tell him in person what he means to him, but the idea floats away from him like smoke. 

“T-tony?” 

“Yeah kid?” 

“I-I-” but there’s no conclusion, no final words. With a sickening twist of vertigo, Peter feels the phone slide from its secure spot in the crook of his neck. It hits the cement, splashing up hot blood, and lays on its side. Peter watches it in detached surprise, feeling the last of his resolve crumbling. 

_Goodbye._

If Tony is still speaking through the device, Peter can no longer hear it, his senses muted and dull. He remembers how Ben’s eyes had looked right before he died, wonders if it’s how he looks now. 

It’s his last thought before the darkness takes him. 

\---

Peter wakes up in someone’s arms. 

At first, he thinks he’s reunited with his Uncle. Wherever he is, he’s safe and warm. He doesn’t feel any pain. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything at all, his existence a dramatic blur. 

“Peter?” 

He must’ve moved. The person holding him shifts to acknowledge his wakefulness, the voice soft and hopeful. 

It’s not Ben, Peter realizes with some disappointment, though someone similar. Someone safe. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, buddy. You’re okay now.” 

He must be crying, because he feels calloused fingers wipe away moisture from his cheeks.

It clicks. 

“Tony?” 

“Oh thank God.” 

Yep, it’s Tony. 

Peter smiles, understanding. 

He can sleep peacefully now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There she is! Irondad is always there for the rescue haha. Hope you enjoyed <33 Let me know what you think! And thanks for all the support!  
> Find me on tumblr @polaroid15 :) Hope you're havin' a swell day   
> Tomorrow: Impaling


	4. Impaling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tony get trapped under a collapsed building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's 4! Love you all! Thanks for all the support and love on this - literally the comments I've been getting have filled my soul with joy and I just don't deserve how nicely you're all treating me 😭 THANK YOU! Enjoy this chapter! I'm really proud of how I wrote it... hope you enjoy <333

When the dust clears, Peter forgets how to breathe. 

The bomb had gone off without delay, no matter how desperately Peter had pleaded it wouldn’t. Him and Tony had been pulling out the last few civilians out of the way when it had detonated. 

The blast had been catastrophic. 

He remembers sprinting for freedom, Tony at his side, his hand latched tightly onto Peter’s arm to keep them from separating. He remembers the horrible vibration of the floor, the impossibly loud explosion, the collapse. 

He remembers the darkness. 

The wreckage is severe, both internally and externally. He wakes up blinking blood out of his eyes and groans, touching gently at the sorest part of his head while trying to regain his footing in the coherent world. He tastes dust on his tongue and ash in his throat. There’s blood on his hands. 

The worst part, however, comes when he looks to the side. He finds Tony, barely visible through the thick darkness, unmoving and still. 

“ _Tony!_ ” The two syllables come out strangled and weak, though in his shock it's intended as a scream. Coughing out concrete dust, he forces his body to cooperate, to move towards the heap of scarred and dented metal laying across from him. 

“Tony-” Peter’s breath cuts short as his vision tilts dangerously, a sharp pain stemming from his shoulder and down into his fingertips. _Broken_ , he thinks. He can’t move his fingers. Maybe his shoulder is dislocated too. 

When his nausea eases he continues his journey, crawling to Tony on his knees. They had been very lucky, he realizes as he ducks through their small shelter of broken concrete and splintered furniture. Though the building has indeed collapsed, it’s nowhere near what he had experienced during homecoming; unable to breathe or move an inch.

This time, all he has to worry about is Tony. 

_Tony_. 

Peter reaches his mentor, pulling in giant lungfuls of dusty air that does nothing but make his head spin. Using his good arm, Peter tries to heave Tony onto his back, but something prevents the movement. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter falls beside his mentor, feeling small and unsure, like the countless comments about his age, his naivety, are finally shining through. He knocks his knuckles lightly against Tony’s mask, unable to see the man’s face. “Wake- wake up.” 

But he doesn’t, and Peter feels stinging tears threatening to fall. 

And that’s when he sees it. 

He can’t help but gasp, falling back on his butt and shifting away from the scene with stars blinking dangerously in his eyes. Frenzied, he uses his unbroken hand to pinch the skin on his thigh, to wake him up from what surely must be a nightmare. 

“ _No._ No no no-” 

No matter how badly he wishes for it to be a dream, the scene doesn’t change, and Peter understands with great horror the severity of their situation. He slides back over to Tony’s side- his side stained with thick blood, originating from a heavy piece of rebar sticking up through his abdomen. 

He’s been impaled. 

“Oh, oh man.” Peter places his unbroken hand over the wound and chokes on a gag as he feels blood soak through the material of his suit. 

Wait. His suit! 

“K-Karen?” 

Nothing. 

“Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no no no-” 

And just like that, his resolve breaks. He feels the sob rip through his throat, burning and stinging, but doesn’t quite hear it past the ringing in his ears. Everything sways and spins around him like a kaleidoscope. 

He doesn’t even know if Tony is _alive_. 

“Please Mr. Stark. _Please, please wake up_.” 

The pain in his broken arm doubles and he looks down at it with a strangled cry, seeing the source of the pain to be the dented and scorched hand of the Iron-Man suit close around his hand. 

He holds his breath, ignoring the grinding pain in his bones. 

“ _To-Tony?_ Mr. Stark? Can you hear me?” 

Slowly, so slowly it feels like a lifetime, Tony turns his head towards him. Peter cries out again, body aching with a deep relief. He presses down harder against Tony’s wound, pushing aside the fierce pain in his arm to allow it to be held. 

“Hey kid,” Tony says, his voice pinched. “What- what happened?” 

“The- the building collapsed. We’re still inside.” 

Tony shifts again, small pieces of rock scraping and grating beneath the metal. He must register the pain because he tenses, the sounds of his breathing stalling. Peter notices him trying to lift his head, to look for the source of the pain, and flinch when it clicks. 

“Oh lordy. That’s not good.” 

Peter’s hands are shaking again, the walls feeling like they’re contracting, though he knows they stand still. Tony turns to look at him again, the eyes of the suit dark. “Are you okay Pete?” 

“ _Me?_ ” Peter asks weakly. “I- I’m fine! It’s you we need to be worried about.” 

“I know you don’t like small spaces,” Tony mumbles, and Peter can hear the coherence leaving his voice. He holds on tighter, refuses to let go. 

He can’t do this again. 

He _can’t_. 

“Stay with me Tony. Don’t go anywhere, okay? Someone will find us soon. They’ll be looking for us.” 

“Kid.” Tony coughs. It sounds wet, like he’s bringing up blood. 

“Don’t leave,” Peter repeats. “You can’t. Fight!” 

“Kiddo.” The tone is gentle, kind. Peter lifts his head, more tears leaking out of his eyes. 

“Can you- can you take off your mask?” 

Peter stills, surprised by the request. “What?” 

“I want to see your face.” 

Swallowing through the tightness in his throat, Peter obeys, wincing as its removal pulls at the cuts on his face. He feels warm air hit the tears on his cheeks and freezes when Tony lifts a weak hand to reach for them, to brush them away. 

“I’m- I’m so proud of you, Pete. I want you to know that.” 

Peter shudders, grabbing Tony’s hand and holding it tight to his chest. 

“ _Tony_ -” 

But the hero’s hand grows heavy in his own, falling limply to the dust despite his attempts to catch it. 

“Tony! _No-_ ” 

Peter can barely see straight through the white, blinding panic. With bile threatening to tear through his throat, he rips off Tony’s helmet and reaches for his throat, fingers landing haphazardly on the artery and waiting, waiting- 

A pulse. One beat, then two, then three. 

They’re running out of time. 

“Help!” 

Peter doesn’t know why he’s screaming, doesn’t know who will hear. He crawls deliriously towards the side of their prison, feeling the walls, pounding against them. “Help us! Please!” 

_I’m so proud of you_. 

He can’t let him die. 

With one last determined glance over at the fallen man, Peter digs his fingers under the biggest portion of the rubble, his bad arm hanging uselessly at his side. He doesn’t have time to think rationally, to analyze whether the disruption will bring more of the demolished building down over their heads. 

All that matters is saving Tony. 

Screaming through the blinding pain, the raw panic, Peter lifts. Just as he had at the warehouse, or when the ferry was tearing him in two. He feels every nerve burn, every muscle cry. It should be impossible to feel this much pain, he thinks, and choose to endure it. 

But nothing can even come close to the pain of losing Tony, so he persists. 

“Holy crap!” 

Peter hears voices, hears hurried footsteps. He doesn’t even think of the ramifications of his missing mask until a paramedic is crouched in the rubble in front of him, eyes wide and disbelieving. “It’s Spider-Man! God- he’s just a kid!” 

“Mr. Stark” Peter grunts, praying for the man to understand. Already, his knees are shaking, threatening to give way. Darkness teases at the edge of his vision. “Save him. _Please_.” 

The medic looks beyond Peter, pulling out a thin flashlight and illuminating the space beyond him. “Oh man,” he says frantically. “I need all hands over here _now!_ We’ve got Iron Man inside!” 

The relief nearly makes Peter drop the whole structure back on top of them, but he refuses, forcing himself to stay lucid, to stay focused. His good arm shakes, threatens to snap, but he holds on all the same. For Tony. 

It passes in a blur. Peter feels medics and firefighters rush past him, ducking through the small space he provides. He vaguely recognizes people trying to talk to him, offering him water. 

Eventually, they pull Tony out on a stretcher.

“You can let go now,” a kind voice says somewhere distant. It's the first medic, a comforting hand on his trembling shoulder that he can’t feel. “He’s okay. We got him. You’re both safe.” 

_Safe._

Peter doesn’t need anymore convincing. He lets the crushing weight drop behind him, the world growing dimmer at its edges. 

The medic catches him when he falls. 

\----

It must not be long after that he wakes up again. He sees the blurry ceiling of an ambulance, feels the ground shake underneath him. Blearily, he tries to push himself up but his muscles feel equivalent to overcooked pasta and his head is surely stuffed with cotton. 

“He’s _fine_!” Says an exasperated voice he doesn’t recognize. “He’s right here, see? He’s fine. He lifted the building long enough for us to get you out. You’re both fine.” 

“His arm-” 

“He’s fine. We’ll get him all fixed up. You too.” 

“Don’t tell me it’s fine! Peter. _Peter._ Over here, kid.” 

It’s Tony, he realizes, a smile pulling on his lips. He turns his head to look at his mentor, widening his sticky eyelids. The world spins, but it doesn’t matter, because Tony is awake and _alive_. 

“You’re okay,” Peter mumbles, dopey smile persisting. 

It’s not a question. 

“Yeah, bud,” Tony says, and through the blur of his vision, Peter thinks he sees tears on the man’s face. “Because of you.” 

“Always keep you safe,” Peter whispers. 

“I know kiddo. You’re a hero for a reason.” 

Their hands reach for each other from across their respective strethers. They might even connect, but Peter loses his grip on reality before it happens, his last concern tethering him to the waking world resolved. 

Tony’s alive. 

Everything is going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as I loved writing it <3 Let me know your thoughts and if you thought I was gonna kill Tony lol. Love you!  
> Come chat with me on tumblr @polaroid15 :)   
> Tomorrow: "take me instead"


	5. "Take me instead"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All they wanted was some ice cream... is that really too much to ask?

“That was the _worst_ ice cream place I’ve ever been to.” 

“Really? I thought it was pretty good.” 

“They didn’t even have waffle cones, Pete. That’s a huge red flag.”

Peter chuckles and tucks his hands into his pockets. The night is warm, a light breeze ruffling their clothes as they walk down the sidewalk. “Well I mean you did get a boring flavour. Maybe that’s the reason.”

Tony scoffs. “Chocolate isn’t boring. It’s classic. You know, old-fashioned.”

“Right. Just like you.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear that.”

Peter laughs again, but it stops short in his throat. Tony looks over at him, half in amusement and half in concern. “You okay?” 

He wants to nod, but his spidey sense is screaming. He falters in his next step, glancing quickly around them, and Tony stops too. “Peter what are you-”

But before he can finish the question, a sharp click of a pistol echoes through the alley to their right. Through the thick cut of shadows, Peter can just barely see the outline of a woman. 

“Are you kidding me?” Tony groans.

“In the alley,” she says, “or the kid gets a bullet between the eyes.”

Peter notices Tony’s hands curling into fists, but he nods shortly. He reaches out and grabs the corner of Peter’s sleeve, and together they step forward. Looking pleased, the woman marches them to the end. Vague shapes in the darkness sharpen to form a running van, the headlights off, and half a dozen other people. 

Peter swallows thickly, trying to keep his breathing even. _It’s okay,_ he thinks. _Everything’s cool. Tony’s here. It’s fine._

“What is this?” Tony asks, “the make-terrible-decisions club?” 

“Something like that,” the woman hisses, grabbing a fistful of Peter’s sweatshirt and yanking him away from Tony. His mentor stiffens, but doesn’t fight back, and Peter is thrown against a man who wraps a strong arm around his chest, pinning him in place. 

Tony watches them carefully, his eyes bright with concern. When he speaks, however, it doesn’t bleed into his voice. “What do you want?” 

“We’ve been tracking you for quite some time,” the woman says, her gun trained on Tony’s chest. “Silly of you to leave your tower unprotected.” 

Peter wishes it weren’t true, but it is. Tony doesn’t even have his gauntlet. 

“What do you want?” Tony asks again, his voice laced with something dangerous. 

“For you to come with us.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Tony sighs, cutting another quick glance towards Peter. “And the kid?”

“Will be fine,” she assures coldly. 

An expression of consideration passes over Tony’s face, and Peter feels his stomach drop down to his toes. “You can’t be seriously considering- don’t listen to them Mr. Stark!”

He’s jabbed harshly in the ribs, though he can hardly feel it through his rising panic. The reality of their situation comes crashing down around him like waves on a shore until he can barely pull a breath through the knot of anxiety in his chest. 

Tony doesn’t look at him. He looks as calm and calculated as always. “Fine,” he says, “but the kid walks free.”

“I promise.”

Peter’s cry of disapproval is drowned out as three of the men that had been standing by the waiting van swoop forward, grabbing Tony’s limbs and dragging away. 

“No!” Peter tries to run forward and is jerked by the collar of his shirt. He chokes, and reaches to alleviate the pressure. “S-stop!”

Tony doesn’t look back at him. Doesn’t fight. 

“ _Take me instead_!” Peter yells. “Let him go- _please-”_

It’s no suggestion, no casual remark. Instead, it’s everything. Passion and fear; a desperation extending past the mere power of words. He feels it in every fibre of his body, in every sharp inhale of air. 

He’s not losing Tony tonight. 

When they don’t pay him any attention he bucks against the man holding him, fighting to reach his mentor.

“ _Please,”_ he says desperately. “I’ll- I’ll come willingly. Just let him go.” 

Finally, Tony acknowledges him. His voice is tense. “Kid- _Jesus._ No!” 

He’s at the van now, seconds away from disappearing. He’s looking at Peter with a dark expression he knows all too well, a non-verbal warning to be quiet and listen.

_They’ll let you go,_ he imagines Tony snapping. _Be smart about this for once._

But as usual, Peter ignores it. 

“Please,” he says again, “take me.” 

“We don’t have time for this,” one of the men holding Tony grunts. He looks over at Peter, eyes squinting. “Knock him out so he can’t follow us.” 

“ _No!_ ” Peter kicks and squirms against the man holding him, connecting his gaze to Tony’s panicked eyes. “Stop! Wait- you can’t do this!” 

“Don’t fight,” Tony pleads, his voice shaking. Unlike Peter, he stands still. “Peter-” 

The rest of Tony’s words get lost as a heavy force collides with the side of his head, replaced with a sharp ringing. He stumbles and falls as the hands release him, ending up in a half kneel on the pavement, his vision shifting. 

“You didn’t hit him hard enough you idiot! Do it again!” 

Peter blinks away stars. Tony is looking at him in raw panic, shouting words that don’t form meaning through the sting in his head and fighting savagely against the hands pulling him back. Peter feels his spider-sense flare again as Tony is lifted into the back. Behind him, the man raises his fist again, this time, to knock him down for good. 

“Damn it,” he breathes. 

So much for secret identities. 

With strength far beyond the capabilities of the concussion he’s most certainly sporting, Peter catches the fist hurtling towards his head and redirects it to the wall behind him. He can hear the bones in the man’s hand shatter, but before he can scream Peter pushes his head into the brick, and the man drops to the ground. 

“Peter!” 

Everything after is chaos. 

Peter dodges, he kicks and punches and _fights_ with an intensity he hadn’t realized he could harness. It nearly scares him how quickly his opponents drop to his feet, how little the violence fazes him. It’s the first time he’s fought without his suit in a long time, though the fear associated with being seen dissolves in his desire to save Tony, to make sure he’s alright. 

Someone punches him in his gut, another in his head. He receives a forceful kick to the shin that has him seeing stars. 

He doesn’t falter. 

In a matter of minutes, it’s only him and Tony standing. 

For a moment, they don’t speak. Peter stands amid the mess, breathing heavily and blinking away the fatigue. Tony is alive, safe. Not going anywhere. 

“Oh kid.” 

At the same time, they move towards each other. He must be stumbling like he’s drunk, because when they finally meet in the middle, Tony has to catch him when he trips. He brings them down to kneel on the cement, his shaking hands smoothing at Peter’s hair. 

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, his voice clipped with worry. Annoyance, too, Peter figures. “God you’re so stupid sometimes.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Oh yeah? Tell that to your uneven pupils.” 

Peter sighs and pushes away Tony’s prying hands. It upsets his balance. “What did you want me to do? I couldn’t just let them take you!”

“Peter-” 

“I’m not going to apologize.”

Tony’s chest heaves as he sucks in a deep lungful of air. Then, as if truly registering Peter’s admittance, brings them together in a hug. “I understand, kiddo. I’d do the same goddamn thing for you. You did the right thing. You just scared the hell outta me.” 

“That’s my job,” Peter chuckles, a wave of relief passing through him. They pull away from the hug and Tony wipes a warm line of blood off his cheek bone with his sleeve. 

“You’re a real brat sometimes, you know that right?” Tony smiles. 

Feigning hurt, Peter shakes his head. “Uh, hello? I just saved your life.”

“I mean, my life wasn’t _really_ in danger.”

“Shut up.” 

Tony laughs, and helps Peter stand. They limp out of the alley together, leaving their attackers behind. “Guess we can’t have a normal night after all,” Tony says. 

“Definitely not,” Peter agrees, “but at least it keeps things exciting.”

Tony shakes his head. He pulls Peter’s head into his shoulder, ruffling his hair. “You and I have had enough excitement for a hundred lifetimes. Let’s try to manifest safety and wellness to the universe now, alright?” 

“Alright,” Peter promises, patting Tony on the shoulder. “No more excitement.” 

For a little while, at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me on tumblr @polaroid15 :)


	6. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When people can't sleep, they count sheep.   
> When Peter can't sleep, he counts his scars.   
> Tony helps him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're having a great day my loves :) I really like how this one turned out. Let me know what you think down below! ENJOY! <33

When people can’t sleep, they count sheep. 

When Peter can’t sleep, he counts his scars. 

He doesn’t know when it started exactly, but somewhere down the line it’s become a sick habit, an ill-crafted routine. He lays in the dark for hours, staring at empty ceilings, mind racing until every inch of his existence seems to bleed from between his fingers. He thinks of the old injuries in his head, first, and sometimes that’s enough. 

A scar on his knuckle when he punched through glass. 

A scar on his abdomen, just under his ribs, where a twelve inch blade slipped through. 

A scar on his shoulder, marred by the memory of a bullet. 

His legs, his neck, his palms. 

His heart. 

Tonight, however, running through the list doesn’t fill the void, barely even touches it. It could be because he’s not at home, because he hasn’t been away from May this long since he was ten. He’s on edge, covered in too many scars, a tapestry of mended skin. 

He wants to sleep more than anything in the world, would sacrifice the vivid history on his body to make it all disappear. 

But he can’t. It’s like his shadow, permanently fused to his skin. 

After hours of laying on his back in the dark, Peter shifts. His hand reaches out absently for the light beside his bed and winces when its soft amber light spills across his sheets, filling the darkest corners of the room. For a moment, he lays still, allows his eyes to adjust. 

Then, he sits up. 

He starts with his hands, running his fingers over the pale lines, soaking in their meaning. He reaches for his neck, then to a spot on the back of his head hidden beneath his hair and onto a faint impression on his collarbone. 

The scars on his abdomen, where the Vulture had impaled him. 

For some reason, his hands stall there. He can feel his heartbeat, heavy and erratic, feels tears in his eyes. 

_He’s so tired_. 

A soft knock echoes from his door. Peter barely notices it through the fog in his head and his pulse jumps further. “Hello?” 

The handle jiggles, twists, and the door swings open. Peter bites on his bottom lip to keep it from wobbling as Tony leans half his body into the room, looking at Peter with squinted eyes. “Pete? FRI told me you were having some trouble sleeping.” 

He feels caught in a trap, torn between two truths. It hurts when he swallows his tears, and even more when he fakes a smile. “I’m okay,” he says, “sorry.” 

Looking entirely unconvinced, Tony drifts further into the room. “You sure? It’s almost four in the morning.” 

“Y-yeah. I can handle it.” 

It must be the wrong thing to say because Tony sighs deeply, running a weary hand across his face. “Pete-” 

“Go back to bed,” Peter pleads, hands tightening against his clothes. Through it, his fingertips register the raised skin. “It’s late.” 

“Not my first rodeo.” Tony attempts to smile, but it falls flat. “I only run on a couple hours anyways. What’s on your mind?” 

Peter hesitates, feeling as if he’s balancing on a tightrope at an impossible height. “Nothing in particular,” he replies honestly. “Just, you know. Things.” 

Although it’s weak, Tony nods in encouragement. He takes another step, then two, then finally settles on the corner of Peter’s bed. “Like what?” 

“Scars _._ ” 

_Crap._

Tony’s eyebrows pull together. “Scars? What do you mean?” 

“Nothing,” Peter blurts, voice shaking. “I meant stars. I was thinking about the stars.” 

“No, kid. You said scars.” 

He sighs, the oxygen burning when it leaves his lungs. He holds out his hands for Tony to see, hopes for the man to understand. 

“I have a lot of scars,” Peter whispers. 

“Oh.” 

Peter feels his mind white out, feels the months of sleepless nights crawling out through his skin.

“Sometimes when I try to sleep I can’t stop thinking about them. How I got them, what they mean. I mean, obviously they don’t hurt anymore but sometimes I can’t help but feel that I’m different because of them.” 

“They’re a part of you,” Tony agrees, his face neutral. 

“I didn’t _choose_ them though.” Feeling short on air, Peter tugs down the collar of his shirt to expose an ugly line at the base of his neck. “Like when I got a knife held to my throat, or when Toomes stabbed me through with metal.” His other hand rests on his abdomen, fingers inches away from countless other marks. “Or when I almost bled out on New Years, or when I broke my ankle in Harlem.” 

“Peter-” 

Chest stuttering, Peter lets his hands drop into his lap. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid,” Tony assures, his tone sharp on its edges. “I understand. I have scars too.” 

Peter smiles at this, but if anything, the emptiness in his chest reaches a new bottom. “But you’re a _hero_.” 

There’s a long, heavy pause. Tony’s jaw hangs in suspension before something clicks behind his eyes. He reaches out and puts two heavy hands on Peter’s shoulders, one for each side. 

“You’re the greatest hero I’ve ever had the privilege to meet,” Tony says sincerely, and Peter’s eyes sting. “You’re brave and selfless, and everything I’ve ever hoped for you to be. And it comes with a cost. A damn heavy one, but Pete- you don’t have to shoulder it alone, alright? We’re all here for you. _I’m_ here for you.” 

And for once, Peter feels completely whole. 

Tony pulls him into a hug and Peter relaxes against it, realizing in that moment how _alive_ he is. How they both are. 

“Your scars are a part of you kiddo. Nothing can change that. But I want you to be proud of them, alright? I want you to be so proud of everything that makes you who you are.” 

Peter clutches at Tony’s shirt, unable to speak past the knot in his throat. He can see the scar on his knuckle, but for once, it’s okay. It’s _him._

Because if Tony can see the beauty in it, maybe he can too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr @polaroid15   
> Have a great day!! <33


	7. Poisoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It’s one of the best dinners Tony has ever had in his life. They laugh, they catch up, they praise their kid. In hindsight, it was really only a matter of time before things went south." 
> 
> Or, a celebratory dinner between Tony, May, and Peter takes a deadly turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7! This week has floooooown by oh my goodness. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

“Cheers!” 

Tony smiles as May and Peter raise sparkling glasses to meet his own. They look nervous, Tony thinks, but excited too. They’ve even dressed up for the occasion, though the sleeves on Peter’s dress shirt are rolled unevenly and May’s still wearing her sneakers from her shift at the hospital with her dress, claiming she had forgotten another pair. 

It’s perfect. 

“This is really fancy,” Peter mumbles, cutting quick glances at the other tables with wide, unbelieving eyes. “Are you sure they don’t use 100 bills as napkins?”

“Oh they definitely do.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

May rolls her eyes in good nature, patting Peter on the arm. “He’s _kidding_ Peter. Obviously.” She shifts her gaze towards Tony, the warm cutouts of light above them turning her glasses gold. “Thank you, Tony. You really didn’t have to-” 

“Course I did,” he interrupts, swirling his glass. “We’re celebrating! It’s not everyday you score the winning point in nationals, right Pete?” 

Sinking slightly in his chair, Peter offers a sheepish smile. “It was a lucky guess.” 

“Nonsense,” May says, and Tony raises his glass in another pledge of agreeance. 

A shy looking waiter appears beside them, holding three steaming plates of food on a wide black tray. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face and Tony notices how determined he is not to look him in the eye. 

Starstruck, probably. Poor kid. 

“E-enjoy your meal,” the waiter stammers, wiping his face with his sleeve. He looks hesitant, like he wants to say something further. He must decide against it, though, because without further comment he pivots on his heel and stumbles away.

He bumps into a chair, and Tony watches him go, bemused. When he turns to look at his plate, it’s filled with fettuccine. He frowns a little, sure he had ordered the linguine. 

“ _Wow_ ,” Peter gushes through a stuffed mouth. A mouth full of linguine, that is. “This food is to _die for!”_

The waiter must have messed their plates around by accident. Unsurprising, really. Tony shakes his head and smiles at Peter’s apparent enjoyment, tucking a cloth into the collar of his shirt. Fettuccine is good too, he supposes. 

“Alright, I’ll admit I’m impressed,” May says, a rich burger held between her hands. 

“Me too,” Peter agrees, his sentiments once again muffled. 

Tony chuckles, curling the smooth pasta around his fork. “Jeez, kiddo. Take a breath before you choke.” 

“No! It’s too good.” 

It’s one of the best dinners Tony has ever had in his life. They laugh, they catch up, they praise their kid. They make fun of May’s sneakers and ask the waiter for the money napkins when he passes by to check on them. 

In hindsight, it was really only a matter of time before things went south. 

It all starts with Peter setting down his fork, his laugh from something May had said tapering off into silence. He reaches for his glass but his hand misses it by a mile. 

Tony eyes the kid suspiciously, watching as he tries to correct himself. Leaning forward, Peter squints for the glass and redirects his hand. 

He misses it again. 

“You okay kiddo?” 

Finally, Peter’s hands find the skinny stem of his glass. He lifts it up to his lips, the drink sloshing around as his hands shake. 

“Peter?” 

Looking surprised, Peter looks over in Tony’s direction, though his eyes don’t fully connect. “What?” He asks quietly. “Oh. Yeah- yeah sorry. Just a little-” 

Concerned now, Tony leans forward, wrapping his own hand around Peter’s to steady the tremors. “A little what?”

“D-dizzy.” 

May screams and Tony curses loudly when Peter’s eyes flutter, body listing limply to the side and off his chair. The glass he had been holding hits the table, its contents staining their white tablecloth. 

“Peter!” 

Guests gasp and scream at the scene as Tony joins May by Peter’s side. Her fingers are jammed against his throat, her other hand clutching up at her hair in panic. “Oh- oh _god_.” 

“What’s wrong with him?” Tony asks while his stomach performs olympic-level backflips. The shaking has spread to Peter’s entire body now, his face ghostly under the lights. Is he even _breathing?_

“CALL AN AMBULANCE!” 

“Thready pulse. I don’t know what happened!”

Tony rests his hands against Peter’s face, his skin hot to the touch. He shakes it gently, but the boy’s head just lolls. 

He’s seen this before. 

Curling his hands into fists, Tony stands, the restaurant seeming to tilt and spin around him. The waiter that had served them is standing in the midst of onlookers, looking half dead himself. Tony walks over to him in three vicious strides and fists his hand into his shirt. “ _What did you give him?”_

In the distance, beyond the ringing in his ears and the heat in his veins, Tony hears gasps and screams. The waiter, if possible, grows more pale. “I- I didn’t-” 

“The food he ate was meant for me!” Tony screams, fear constricting his heart so tightly, he can hardly feel it beat within his chest. He’s experienced enough guilt in his lifetime, he thinks, and this might just be the breaking point. “It was meant for _me!_ He was poisoned!” 

Further in the distance, sirens. 

“I have no idea, I swear,” the waiter says hastily, looking two seconds away from a panic attack. “I just grabbed the trays!” 

“Who knew I was here?” 

“E-everyone!” 

“Damn it!” Tony throws the boy away, his anger untouched. An older woman dressed in the restaurant’s uniform appears beside him, horror sketched deeply into the lines of her face. “Sir,” she says, “the ambulance is here.” 

He feels torn, ripped to shreds. 

“Someone poisoned him,” Tony gasps. He can’t breathe. 

“I’ll tell the police,” the woman assures. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Let me handle it, okay? Go be with your son.” 

_Son_. 

Feeling lightheaded, Tony stumbles back over to their table. EMTs are streaming into the building, a vacant stretcher held between them. They waste no time in securing Peter to it, limp and unresponsive, and inject him with needles and air. He catches May when she falls into him, sobbing, and together they follow Peter out into the chilled air. 

\----

Three hours later, and everything is okay. 

“Told you the food was _to die for_ ,” Peter mumbles. He’s weak and pale, his eyes distant and foggy, but bright with the relief of being alive. Tony grabs the boy’s hand and hangs on for dear life, relishing in the warmth of his skin under the tubes and wires connecting him to his recovery. 

Tony isn’t sure if the sound he makes next is a laugh or a sob. “Almost,” he corrects, “it was _almost_ to die for.” 

It doesn’t matter, because Peter is okay. 

“Was still pretty good,” Peter whispers, half asleep. “Mm. Four stars. Would consider going again.” 

“Nope. _No_. Not in a million years.”

“But we didn’ even get to try dessert-”

“Peter,” Tony says sternly, but he smiles as he says it, “never in a million, billion, years.” 

“Mmm. Fine.”

“Go to sleep kiddo. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Eyes closed, Peter’s smile widens. 

“I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How have you enjoyed the first week??! Lemme know! Love ya'll! :)   
> Tumblr: @polaroid15   
> Tomorrow: "hey, hey, this is no time for sleep"


	8. "Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter hums, and when he blinks, the reflex fails at its midpoint. Tony shakes him, not ready for it to be over, refusing to give up hope. When he speaks, his voice is raw and laced with something desperate and foreign. 
> 
> “Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep.” 
> 
> \--
> 
> Warnings: can be interpreted as MCD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooow I hate myself for this one haha. I'm so sorry! It has an open ending, so interpret it how you like, but it definitely can allude to MCD- so be aware of that!

It had happened so fast. 

They always say that the scariest moments of your life do. 

That you blink, and it’s over. 

That in one moment, you’re in it, and you’re paralyzed with fear. That you can taste acid on your tongue, can feel each beat of your heart, so aware of your own life that it hurts. That those you love fly across your eyelids and remind you of your humanity, of all you have to lose. 

It had happened so fast. 

And now, without even fully knowing how he got there, Tony is cradling Peter against his chest. A couple years ago, he was nothing more than a kid from Queens. A potential asset. A stranger. 

Now. Now, he’s _everything._

And he’s dying. 

“P-Peter.” 

Every limb in Tony’s body has gone numb. He feels untethered to reality, like any second he’ll wake up in bed in a cold sweat and with tears in his eyes, trying to shake off the feeling of his kid’s life leaving through his fingers. 

But he knows it’s not a dream. Not this time. Because he feels warm blood on his hands, on his chest, on his face, a bullet that had been meant for him lodged deeply in Peter’s own chest. Stupid, sacrificial Peter, who had a heart bigger than anyone in the universe. 

“Peter. Kiddo. Please- please keep your eyes open.” 

The boy shudders, growing colder. His soft brown eyes are half mast, reflecting the distant pinpricks of light that stretch across the sky. “The stars,” he whispers, his voice broken and young, but unafraid. There’s crimson on his lips. “The stars are so beautiful.” 

A sob echoes in Tony’s chest, not stopping once it's released. He cries openly, running his eyes over Peter’s face. Memorizing it, etching it into his very soul. “Yeah, yeah kiddo. They sure are.” 

The boy has always had a talent for finding beauty, Tony thinks brokenly, even in the darkest of times. 

Peter hums, and when he blinks, the reflex fails at its midpoint. Tony shakes him, not ready for it to be over, refusing to give up hope. When he speaks, his voice is raw and laced with something desperate and foreign. 

“Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep.” 

A soft smile, showing for the hundredth time the reality of Peter’s age. A child. A kid. _His_ kid. “Bossy,” he murmurs. 

“You can’t leave me, Parker. Not now, not ever. You hear me?” 

“I- I love you T’ny.”

Tony feels his entire world dissolve. He holds on tighter. 

It feels like goodbye. 

“Don’t go anywhere. You hear me? That’s an order.” 

The dip of a head, dotted with grief from above. 

“Peter.” 

“Peter?” 

_“If you go, I go_. You hear me? If you go, I go too.” 

Ever since the shot had gone off, Tony has had his finger on the pulse point on Peter’s wrist. It still flutters against his skin, tells him that Peter is alive, though his eyes are closed and his chest barely moves. 

Like he could be sleeping. 

“Don’t go to sleep Peter.” 

It’s a plea, a warning. 

“Don’t go. C-come back to me. Wake up.” 

“I- I love you too, Pete. _God_ , _so much_.” 

“Don’t do this.”

“Wake up-”

“ _Please.”_

Above, distant, and touched only by the human eye, the stars burn brighter than ever. 

They really are beautiful. 

And if it comes to it, they’ll be ready to welcome Peter home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I DON'T KNOW WHAT CAME OVER ME!!!! PLEASE FORGIVE!!!!!!!!!!  
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: Buried alive


	9. Buried Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up with grave dirt in his mouth.   
> Will Tony reach him in time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun one to write! I've always really enjoyed other author's takes on this trope, so it was a treat to create my own spin on it. And I promise it ends on a happier note than yesterday haha. Enjoy my friends <33

Peter wakes up with gravedirt in his mouth. 

He chokes when he realizes and tries turning to dispel it. His shoulder hits something solid above him, his fingers brush against smooth satin, and he in the next horrifying second he realizes. 

_A coffin._

He coughs, spitting out the taste of death into the darkness. When it’s gone, the phantom of the feeling lingers, crawling down his throat and paralyzing his lungs. He gasps, unable to breathe, and raises his shaking hands, reaching for an exit, an escape. 

_He can’t breathe. Oh man. Oh god. He can’t breathe-_

His fingers dig into the satin and the wood, curling weakly against his prison. He needs to get out. There’s no air in here-

_“Kid? Peter?”_

He sobs, convinced he’s dying. The voice belongs to Tony, but he’s certain he’s alone. 

“PETER. Can you hear me? Are you there?” 

In his frantic searching, his hand nudges against a small rectangle by his thigh. He twists his fingers around it and brings it up to his face, though he can’t see the device at all through the pitch black of his environment. He rubs it between his hands, feeling thin grates of plastic and an antenna. 

“Peter?” 

The voice comes louder now, right in front of his face. He drops the device in surprise, head spinning from his panic. With the grace of a toddler, he pulls it back into his hands, feeling the device for a button. 

He still can’t seem to pull in air. Talking should be impossible, he thinks, but in some miracle the words come. “T-Tony?” 

A beat of darkness, of silence, and the walkie talkie comes alive in his hand. “Oh thank God. You can hear me?” 

“ _Yes_.” 

“Good, good. Wow is it sure good to hear your voice. How’re you feeling kiddo?” 

“I-” Peter releases the button, a sob he doesn’t want Tony to hear scraping past his vocal chords. When it dies, he tries again. “I don’t know what’s happening. I- I can’t breathe.” 

There’s a longer silence this time and Peter stifles another cry, clutching the walkie talkie to his chest. He kicks up at the coffin, praying for it to give. Tries again, and his toes go numb.

“You’re panicking, Pete. There’s still air. And I know this is scary,” Tony’s say calmly, filling the space around him and giving the cold earth some warmth, “but it’s going to be okay. We’re working on getting you now, okay?” 

“I’m in a coffin.” 

He can still taste dirt under his tongue, can practically feel the weight stacked above him. 

“I know, Pete. I know. But we’re going to get you out. It’s going to take a little while though, okay? I need you to breathe nice and slow. Buy us some time.” 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Feeling stupid for not realizing it sooner in his panic, Peter clamps his hand over his mouth and nose as if to keep the air contained. He holds his breath until his chest burns, until he can’t anymore. 

As if sensing it, Tony’s voice crackles back. “Don’t hold your breath Peter.” 

“How did- how did you?” 

“I know you.” 

More tears collect in his eyes. He tries to blink them away but they fall hot down the side of his face. 

“Talk to me,” Peter whispers. 

“Did I tell you that Ned called me the other day?” 

“N-no. He did?” 

“Yeah,” Tony says. “He wanted to ask me a favour.”

“Oh. What was it?”

“Promise to keep it a secret?”

Peter nods, feeling lightheaded. After a moment he realizes Tony can’t see him and clicks the button back down. “Yeah. Promise.” 

“He wants to throw you a surprise party. For your birthday coming up. Wanted to have it at the Tower.” 

Peter cries again. His fingers are cold as ice. 

“And I said yes,” Tony says, his voice loud and clear. After a pause it returns, wavering. “So you need to stay awake, okay? We can’t have our guest of honour missing out on all the fun. Ted will never forgive me.” 

“Y-you know his name is Ned.” 

“Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.” 

He is. 

Or, he wants to. The next thing he registers is a block of white noise, screaming in his ears and making his head spin. He realizes he had closed his eyes, not noticing before the difference in the darkness, and tries to crawl back to reality. 

“ _Peter?_ Answer me!” 

Tony sounds scared. Frantic, even. And Tony Stark is _never_ frantic.

“S-sorry.” 

“Lordy. Stop scaring me, kid. How’s the air down there?” 

“Mmm. Light.”

“Light?” 

“Light.”

He tries not to drift again, to stay tethered. 

“Alright Pete. Ready for your pop quiz?” 

“Quiz?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Tony says. “You go to a genius school, after all. What’s nine multiplied by nine?”

Easy. “81” 

“Good job, kiddo. That’s great. How about thirteen minus five?” 

This one is harder. Peter squints at the lid of the coffin, hoping it will hold the answers. The earth above him shakes and dirt falls into his face. “Seven.” 

“That- that was close, buddy. Real close.” 

Peter abandons his grip on the walkie talkie to wipe the dirt off his face. It turns to mud against his tears. 

“What about the colours in the rainbow? What are those?”

A rainbow. The sky. A whole open world above him. 

“Peter?” 

“Uh. Red.” He swallows, trying to picture it in his mind. “Orange. Blue.” 

“Right,” Tony encourages. “What else?”

“R-red.” 

He doesn’t feel strong enough to press down the button anymore, wants nothing more than to drift off, to rest. 

He’s so tired. 

A sudden twist of nausea runs through him and he turns to his side instinctively, crying again when sharp acid spills out of his throat. When it’s over, he slumps back, shaking. A thought crosses his mind and he reaches back for the walkie talkie. 

“Tony?” 

“Yeah kid? We’re almost there.” 

“Remember when I rode that donut to space?” 

“Yeah. Kinda hard to forget.” 

“Feels like that,” he decides, the sting of acid still burning on his tongue. “Feels like space.” 

He’s floating, falling. 

Tony always catches him. 

“Don’t let go, Pete.” It’s strong, an order. “Stay awake. We’re _so damn close_.” 

He wishes he could see the stars. 

“Tony.”

“Tony.” 

“Tony I love you, okay? Tell May- tell May too.” 

There’s no response, and Peter realizes in detachment that he had never pressed the button. _He’s not strong enough._

Tony hadn’t heard him. 

His eyes close again. 

There’s a harsh vibration that shakes his casket. He feels it in his bones, in his blood. 

“Peter? We see the coffin. We’re here. We’re here-”

His head lolls, unable to hold it. His hand rests on the walkie talkie, his hand buzzing from Tony’s voice. Air is impossible now. 

In an instant, the darkness is transformed into blinding light. A gust of air rushes in to meet him, but his lungs have forgotten how to take it in. He hears more static, feels hands on his arms and legs, hoisting him out of the ground to rest on top of it. He feels fingers on his throat, on his chest, on his face. He feels hard plastic slip over his mouth and nose, oxygen forcing its way into his body. 

He gasps and chokes and cries, tries to sit up and finds himself in Tony’s arms. The man’s hands are in his hair. He’s shaking. Peter tries to return the hug, but his arms are dead. 

“Found me,” he whispers instead. 

“Always,” Tony whispers in his hair. Soft and gentle. Filled with a thousand other words. “Always.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR READING!!!!!! <33 I hope you liked this one!   
> Tumblr: @polaroid15   
> Tomorrow: "I'm sorry, I didn't know"


	10. "I'm sorry. I didn't know"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Tony. Wake up.”_   
>  _Tony gasps, eyes snapping open as if he’s been shocked. Peter feels his spider sense flare, but not in nearly enough time to avoid the flying fist sailing his way. He takes it in the eye without a sound, but falls back on his butt nonetheless, his fingers rising up to meet the hurt in shock. He watches out of his one good eye as Tony sits up straight, his eyes as wild as his hair and breathing hard. He turns his head, confused, and looks at his fist._   
>  _Then he looks at Peter._   
>  _“Wha- what? Peter? Did I just hit you?”_   
>  _“Um.”_   
>  _“Oh God.”_
> 
> Or, Peter tries to wake Tony up from a nightmare. It doesn't go as well as he hoped.

The movie credits appear on the screen as the room is filled with soft, reflective music. Peter yawns, stretches, and falls more fully against the pillows. 

For the first time in weeks, he feels perfectly relaxed. 

Tony is slouched against the cushions on the opposite side of the couch, a blanket drooping off his lap and a tablet perched under his hand, the screen black. He had sauntered in from the lab in the middle of the movie and plopped himself down, kicking his feet up without another word. Peter had missed the next five minutes of the movie, his mind kicking into overdrive. 

It had been such a- _familial_ thing to do. Normal, comfortable. 

Nice. 

Now, Tony is asleep, and it’s late. Peter debates closing his eyes, to let the night dissolve and end on its high note. 

Then Tony has a nightmare.

Peter can tell right away, from the whine issuing from his mentor’s throat and the way his fingers curl into fists. Sitting up straighter, the pull of sleep dissipating, Peter leans forward, almost hoping that the spell will simply pass. 

“ _No. Please._ ” 

Peter swallows nervously, scooches a little further. Tony is shaking, and the tablet falls from his lap and hits the ground, sliding out of sight. 

“Tony? Tony. _Tony!”_

None of his attempts succeed and Tony continues to grow more agitated, falling subject to full body jerks and tremors. He continues to mutter, trapped in some subconscious torture.

Feeling worry spike through the pit of his stomach, Peter drops off the couch and walks to Tony’s side, then crouches next to him. Tentative, unsure, he places a hand on his mentor’s shoulder. 

“Tony. Wake up.” 

Tony gasps, eyes snapping open as if he’s been shocked. Peter feels his spider sense flare, but not in nearly enough time to avoid the flying fist sailing his way. He takes it in the eye without a sound, but falls back on his butt nonetheless, his fingers rising up to meet the hurt in shock. He watches out of his one good eye as Tony sits up straight, his eyes as wild as his hair and breathing hard. He turns his head, confused, and looks at his fist. 

Then he looks at Peter. 

“Wha- what? Peter? Did I just _hit you?_ ” 

“Um.” 

“Oh God.” 

“Wait! Don’t freak out! It’s okay! You barely even touched me!” 

Tony grabs at the material of his shirt above his chest, clutching at it like a lifeline. He’s staring at Peter like he’s an alien from outer space. Which, Peter supposes, he’s already seen so it really shouldn’t be _that_ shocking-

“B-barely touched you? I punched you in the face!” 

Peter shifts on the ground, keeping his hand placed firmly over his eye. It throbs and stings, might even be bleeding, and he doesn’t want to reveal the injury, to make it real. “You were having a nightmare! I was just trying to help.” 

“Well you didn’t!” Tony shouts. “You made it worse!” 

Despite himself, Peter flinches. He scootches back an inch, his back hitting the coffee table. For some reason, his heart is stampeding against his chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” 

“Didn’t know-” Tony breaks off, shaking and frowning and _angry._ “That’s no goddamn excuse! What the hell were you thinking?” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeats, feeling quite suddenly like the walls are closing in. He stands shakily. “I’m sorry.” 

And he leaves. 

\----

Tony finds him just under an hour later.

Peter is standing at the foot of his bed, throwing clothes into the duffel he uses to transfer his stuff between his apartment and the Tower. He hears Tony’s footsteps long before he enters the room and dreads the appearance with each distant step. 

Now, his mentor is standing at the threshold of Peter’s room, hands in his pockets and looking down at the floor. Peter freezes halfway through the process of stuffing a hoodie into his bag and makes sure his swollen eye is out of sight. 

“What are you doing?”

“Uh. Packing.” 

Tony sighs, bringing his hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. 

“Look, I know I stepped out of line,” Peter says quickly, feeling heat rise up into his cheeks. “It’s fine. You don’t need to tell me to go. I’ll just do it.” 

“It’s only Friday. You’re supposed to stay the weekend-” 

“Mr. Stark.” 

“Tony,” he corrects. “God, Pete-” he steps into the room, looking timid. “I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean anything I said back there.” 

Peter sags, the fight draining out of his body. “I understand.” 

“I shouldn’t have yelled. I got scared.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

“I want you to stay. If you do.” 

Tony is beside him now, and Peter lets go of his sweater. He turns towards his mentor and watches him flinch as his eye is revealed. Swelling, black and blue, with an angry red welt under his eyebrow. 

He smiles, trying to lessen the impact of the ugly injury. Tony stares at it like it’s the first of its kind he’s ever seen. “Peter-”

“For someone your age, you really do have a decent right hook,” Peter says.

Then they’re laughing. 

Peter can't explain it, but it fills the cracks in his chest. Tony pulls him into a hug, and Peter smiles over his shoulder. Tony ruffles his hair and pushes him away. “Careful who you call old, kiddo.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Wanna go work in the lab for a bit?” 

Peter nods, turning away from the duffel on the bed. “Only if I can pick the music.” 

Tony laughs, resting a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder as they leave the room behind. “Oh Pete. After what happened tonight, you can pick the music for the rest of your life.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE DIGITS BABY! Hope you liked day 10!!  
> ALSO I just want to say I've been so so overwhelmed and grateful for all the support I've been getting on this so far. It's always the highlight of my day to post these and interact with you all, so just- thank you <3  
> Find me on tumblr @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: Hallucinations


	11. Hallucinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter comes down with a fever. Tony doesn't realize until it's almost too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's day 11! Proud of how this one turned out :) Happy reading!

“Hey Pete, are you feeling Mexican or Chinese for dinner?” 

There’s a long drawn silence and Tony swivels on his stool to investigate, abandoning his project on the table. It doesn’t take long to find the boy- he’s leaning against his workspace, head resting on folded arms. The kid’s own project sits untouched in front of him, still a mess of unconnected wires. 

“Oh lordy,” Tony sighs, “are you seriously taking a _nap_ right now?” 

When Peter still doesn’t stir, Tony begrudgingly slips off his seat and onto the cool tile, his legs aching after hours of disuse. He crosses the space between them quickly, a smile tugging at his lips. 

_Kids._

“Pete,” he says again, resting a light hand on the kid’s shoulder, “wake up sleeping beauty. Time to eat.” 

Again, Peter doesn’t move. Feeling a small twinge in his stomach, he strengthens his grip, giving his shoulder a small shake. The movement jostles Peter’s head off his arms where it rests against the table. Now, Tony can see his face. 

And his stomach drops all the way down to his toes. 

“Damn it!” 

Trying to keep his breathing even, Tony places his palm against Peter’s red, clammy forehead and curses at the heat emanating from it. His lips are dry and chapped, his curls sticking in wet clumps on his forehead. 

“Peter! Wake up right the hell now!” 

Slowly, Peter does. His eyes open into slits, revealing delirious orbs of brown on the other side. They drift up to Tony in some delay as he sways on his chair. 

“ _B-Ben?_ ” 

Tony stills, convinced his heart has ceased beating. He swallows past a sudden lump in his throat, hand falling away from Peter’s shoulder. “No- no, kiddo. It’s Tony.” 

Peter whimpers, a vicious shiver upsetting his equilibrium. He falls, and Tony is just able to catch him before he hits the floor. 

“FRI!” Tony yells, his heart in his throat. He repositions Peter so his head is in his lap, the heat radiating from it impossibly high. “FRI, call a medteam _now!_ ” 

“Right away, boss.” 

“Oh God,” Tony murmurs, hands shaking as he feels for Peter’s pulse. “How- how did this happen? Oh _Christ_.” 

“Mmm. Ben-”

Tony bites back a sob, the world dissolving down to a pinprick. 

“Miss y-you.” 

The kid’s eyes roll around in his head, his breathing short and stilted. Tony grabs onto his hand and holds it tight, vowing to never let go. “I miss you too,” he whispers, choosing to indulge whatever the kid is seeing. 

“ _Ben_.” 

“I know,” he says. “I know.” 

The doors to the lab slide open, a med team rushing through with a stretcher. Still hanging onto his hand, Tony maneuvers with the team until Peter is lifted onto the stretcher, his head lolling towards Tony like a flower to the sun. One of the staff raises a thermometer to Peter’s ear as Tony wipes away a tear off Peter’s cheek.

“Damn,” the medic says, voice tight. “Temp is 104.9. We need to get him cooled off _now!”_

They start to run towards the elevator, and Peter cries out at the movement, his hand tightening in Tony’s. 

“You’re okay,” Tony soothes. “You’re gonna be fine.” 

The elevator dings and they step inside. Peter gives a full body flinch at the harsh fluorescent lights and digs his sweaty face into Tony’s arm. He moans, eyelids fluttering. 

“Where- where am I?” he slurs. 

“We’re at the tower.” 

“Wha- what? Tower?” 

Tony adds his second hand to their already clasped ones, rubbing his thumb over the back of Peter’s knuckles. “Don’t worry about it. You’re okay. We’re going to take care of you.” 

Peter shudders. He turns his head to look up at Tony with drooped, delirious eyes. Something passes through them, like he’s seeing a ghost. And maybe, Tony thinks, he is. 

“ _Dad?_ ” he whispers. Peter is crying freely now, and Tony sacrifices one of his hands from Peter’s to wipe them off his face. The heat from the kid’s cheeks burn his fingertips. “Dad. You’re- you-”

_Alive? Here? Back?_ Peter’s sentence trails off, his coherence getting lost in the thick mist behind his eye. Tears of his own well up in Tony’s eyes and Peter’s small, shaking body blurs in front of him. 

“ _Dad,_ ” Peter wheezes, more tears dripping from his eyes. He’s growing weaker in Tony’s grip, the medteam becoming more frantic. 

“I’m here Pete”, Tony whispers, his emotions bleeding into his voice. 

A small, frail smile passes onto Peter’s lips. Then, as if realizing, it falls. “Am- am I dying?”

“No,” Tony says immediately. “You’re not dying. You’re going to be okay.” 

“You’re- you’re dead.”

“I’m right here bud.”

“I’m scared.”

“You’re going to be alright. I’m right here with you, okay? I’m not leaving. You’re going to be okay.”

“Okay,” Peter repeats, as if testing the word on his tongue. The last string keeping him tethered to reality must break then, because his eyes close, head lolling to the side. 

The elevator dings and they rush out of it, Peter growing limp against the stretcher. As they draw closer to the medbay, one of the staff grabs Tony’s arm, separating him from Peter. 

“Hey!” he yells. “Hey, stop!”

“We need the space to work. He’s in good hands.” 

_I’m not leaving._ He had told Peter that only moments before. 

“I can’t- I have to go with him!”

“I’m sorry Mr. Stark.” 

And just like that, Tony is left in the hall alone. 

\---

Peter is lucid two days later. 

Or, well, _mostly_ lucid. 

He’s laying in bed, hooked up to an IV and playing a messy game of Go Fish with Tony. After reluctantly giving Tony a seven out of his hand, his eyes go wide and he drops his cards. “Wait!” 

Tony looks up sharply, still on edge. The kid had nearly _died,_ the doctors saying that if they had caught it even just an hour later, recovery wouldn’t have been an option. And Tony had been right beside him the whole time. Working away on a stupid mechanism while the kid’s brain boiled. “What?”

Peter looks frantic, his eyes wide above his fever-flushed face. “I called you _dad_ , didn’t I?” 

Tony huffs out a small laugh, rolling his eyes. He relaxes. “Are you kidding me? Why are you saying it like it’s a bad thing?” 

“It’s _not_ ,” Peter assures. “It’s definitely not. I just- I just-” 

“It’s okay,” Tony says, saving him the obligation for an explanation. “I’m surprised you remember, anyway. Your brain was quite literally melting.” 

“Melting,” Peter echoes. 

“Big time.”

Peter falls back against his pillows and retrieves his cards from the sheets with shaky hands. “Sorry,” he says. 

“For what?” 

“You know, calling you dad.” 

“Kiddo,” Tony says, smiling. “I don’t mind at all.” 

They both freeze, and Peter blushes until his ears are flaming, not helped by the remnants of the fever. “Oh,” he says, trying to hide his smile, “okay. Noted.” 

“Noted.” 

“Do you have any threes?” 

“You wish, kiddo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Hope you liked it!  
> Tumblr: @polaroid15   
> Tomorrow: "Who are you?" 
> 
> LOVE YOU ALL!! <3


	12. "Who are you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony invites Peter to a fancy gala, fully intending to show off the kid's big brain and charm. One of the guests take too much interest in Peter, and Tony will do anything to make sure the boy is safe. 
> 
> Requested by the BEAUTIFUL WONDERFUL AMAZING INCREDIBLE @Watermeloness Love you lots my friend <33 Thanks for all the support!!! It means the woooorld :) Hope you enjoy this one <33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Warnings for the chapter: Attempted sexual assault/inappropriate touching. Read carefully!

“He’s the sharpest kid of his age,” Tony brags, clapping a supportive hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Not as smart as me of course, but, well, he has potential.” 

Peter shuffles awkwardly underneath his mentor’s hold, smiling sheepishly at a sharp looking man that he’s forgotten the name of. It’s blurred with the countless other names and faces Tony has introduced him to in the last couple hours, all with fancy reputations or the creators of ground-breaking inventions. “Mr. Stark-” 

“I believe it. It’s nice to meet you, Peter,” the nameless man says, extending a warm hand that Peter takes in a choppy handshake. “Glad you were able to make it today.” 

The man leaves and Tony beams after him. “That’s the guy who invented those hotel robot things,” he says. “Well, at least I think he is.” 

“Oh,” Peter says, looking at the man’s retreating figure. “That’s neat.” 

Tony snorts and rolls his eyes. “Alright, break time. Go get something from the bar and we’ll meet up in a bit, alright?”

“Okay,” Peter agrees, smiling. “Want anything?”

“No, no I’m okay. Knock yourself out. Non-alcoholic _only_ though, kapeesh?”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Without further need of prompting, Peter bounds away. He’s wearing a different suit today, trading in red and blue spandex for a pricey Italian two piece that Tony had bought him for the specific occasion. 

It fits perfectly, but of course it does. 

The event is a fancy gala on the East side of Manhattan to celebrate technological innovation. Tony is meant to give some prestigious speech at its close that he definitely hasn’t prepared for, and had practically begged Peter to come along. 

_“To show off the big brain of yours,”_ he had said. _“It’ll be fun.”_

Peter makes it to the bar, feeling nervous and out of place in the crowd of rich scientists around him. He leans against the counter, waiting for the bartender to notice him. 

“Hi there,” a man to his right says, and his voice makes the hair on the back of Peter’s neck stand straight. “You need a drink? It’s on me.”

And it all goes south from there.

\---

Tony finds Bruce in the crowd, smiling when he sees him. They bump shoulders and look over the crowd, laughing at the sheer lavishness of it all. 

“Enjoying the party?” Bruce asks, hands in his pockets. 

“Sure,” Tony says, and is surprised to find it’s the truth. Usually he hates these kinds of events. Dreads them, even. “Been busy.” 

“With Peter?” 

Tony furrows his eyebrows. Bruce is smiling like he’s holding a secret. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone’s talking about him.” 

“Really?” 

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Bruce says, his tone touching on humour. “You _have_ been dragging him around all day. I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a single person in here that hasn’t been personally introduced.” 

For some reason, Tony feels his cheeks heat. “Well, they should know his name. He’ll be taking my place one day, just you wait and see.” 

Bruce nods his head, still smiling. “One day,” he repeats. “How’s he doing?” 

Across the room, Tony spies Peter leaning against the bar with a glass in his hand. There’s a tall man standing next to the boy, engaged in conversation. He smiles unconsciously at the sight, and clears his throat. “Good, good. The little punk has managed to stay out of trouble for a while, so that’s been real good for my heart.” 

Bruce snorts. “True. I haven’t gotten many frantic calls to medbay lately.”

“Thank God,” he says, then pauses, his smile stretching. “Hey, you should go over and eavesdrop on what they’re talking about for me.” 

“What? Are you serious?” 

“Yes! I want to know what they’re talking about!” 

“You’re on another level of crazy,” Bruce says, shaking his head. “Must be the dad instincts.” 

“No-”

Bruce’s hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “No need to defend yourself Tony, I’ll be your spy. Wait here.” 

Tony huffs out a half-hearted insult, swiping his hand over the spot where Bruce had just been. He watches his friend weave through the crowd towards his protege and a small bubble of pride rises up through him.

Peter is a good kid. 

He gets sidetracked in light conversation with a short, older man in a penguin tuxedo. Bruce sidesteps into it shortly after, eyes frantic. “Tony-”

“What? Did the kid sneak some alcohol or something?” 

_“No,”_ Bruce says, and something in his tone makes Tony’s stomach drop. “I just don’t think that man talking to Peter is very friendly.” 

“What do you mean? It looks like he likes the kid.”

“A little _too_ much, Tones.”

He pauses, lets the words connect, refuses to believe them. 

Then, he feels rage. 

Bruce doesn’t stop him from storming across the room. When he gets close, he sees red, because the man’s hand is climbing Peter’s thigh. The other is circled tightly around Peter’s wrist, pinning him to the counter. 

“ _Get the hell off my kid!”_

Tony pushes Peter’s attacker up against the bar with his forearm on his neck, separating him from Peter. The man winces, but looks unafraid. “Get off me Stark!” 

“Who are you?” he yells, tightening his hold. Distantly, around him, he can hear the room hush. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything-” 

Tony punches the man in the teeth before he can finish the sentence and is too angry to feel it when his knuckles split. The man grunts and falls off his barstool, collapsing against the ground and clutching at his bleeding face. When he’s down, Tony kicks him in the ribs. 

“Tony-” 

He spins, heart racing. Bruce is standing beside Peter, hands supporting the kid by his shoulders. Peter looks spacey and distant, his eyes open but not connecting to anything. 

“Oh my god.” 

He sees the glass in Peter’s hand, half empty, and the sinkhole in his chest increases. He puts his hands on the sides of Peter’s face, tapping lightly. “Pete? Can you hear me kiddo?” 

Peter blinks lazily, head rolling. Finally, with great effort, he shakes his head. “Feel sick,” he murmurs. 

The world blurs as Tony’s eyes fill with tears. He connects with Bruce somewhere in his panic, worry and rage ripping through him, threatening to knock him over. “Help me get him out of here,” he pleads. 

Bruce nods, and together they help Peter up and out of his seat, supporting most of his weight when his knees give out beneath him. The other guests carve a path for them, whispering behind their hands as the man who had been with Peter is picked up ungently off the ground by security. 

“You’re okay,” Tony soothes, squeezing Peter’s arm lightly and wondering if the boy can even feel the attempt at comfort in his roofied state. Acid burns in his throat as he thinks about what could have happened if Bruce hadn’t gone to investigate as Peter trips between them, letting out a low, confused whine. “You’re okay bud.” 

They find a small room to slip inside, setting Peter down against the wall. He moans, head still rolling. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, “I’m okay.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Tony says, voice strained. “It’s not your fault.” 

“Didn’t- didn’t want to ruin your party.”

Both Tony and Bruce still, and Tony feels as if he’s suddenly suspended somewhere in the stratosphere, somewhere with no air. He runs his hands through Peter’s hair, choking back tears. “Pete. _Pete_ look at me.”

Slowly, remarkably, he does. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tony whispers, shaking from head to toe. “Never put me in front of your safety, okay? Never.”

Peter blinks, swallows, then nods, looking close to tears himself. “Okay.”

“God, kid.” He pulls Peter into his chest and feels his weak, uncoordinated fingers curl around his suit jacket. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“That guy sucked,” Peter slurs.

“That’s an understatement,” Bruce says in solemn agreement. 

They lapse into a short, fractured silence where Peter just _breathes._ He looks up at Tony with glazed eyes when they pull away, and Tony feels his heart stretch. “How’re you feeling kiddo?” 

“Better now,” Peter whispers, eyes brimming with tears. He wipes a sleeve across his cheek when one of them falls. “Sorry, sorry.” 

“It’s okay. It’s okay, don’t apologize.” 

“Thanks for helpin’ me.” 

“Always.” 

They sit there until the drug wears off, and by that time Peter is soundly asleep, pressed between Bruce and Tony’s shoulders. 

Safe. 

Tony misses his big speech, but it doesn’t matter. 

The only thing that does is the kid drooling on his shoulder. 

“I’m going to make sure that man never gets out of prison,” he decides, and Bruce nods enthusiastically. A sharp pit of protective anger blossoms up in his chest, and he hangs onto Peter’s sleeping form just a little tighter. “No one messes with my kid and gets away with it.”

And he means it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: Hiding Injury


	13. Hiding Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned invites Peter over to play video games. Little does he know that Peter has just gotten stabbed *face palm*

“Jeez, no offense man, but you’re not doing very good today,” Ned says, watching with a pout as their shared screen goes red. Their third loss in a row. “Aren’t your superhero instincts supposed to be good for things like this?”

Peter hums in apology and lets go of his controller to rub at tired eyes. They’re playing some new first person shooter game that Ned had stood in line for six hours to buy. No matter how fun Ned had promised it to be, it’s not helping Peter’s pounding headache, or the way that his vision is beginning to warp at its edges. “Sorry man. Just tired I guess. Let’s go again.”

Ned pauses, obviously conflicted, but must know Peter well enough not to argue because he restarts the game, thumbs clicking furiously. 

Peter tries to move his player forward but his thumb misses the joystick. The screen blurs in front of him, and he squints to try and decipher the shapes. He feels lightheaded and nauseous all of a sudden, a cold sweat breaking out across his back, and he tries desperately to ignore it. 

_Be normal. Be normal. Please, please be normal._

But the sad fact is, he isn’t. He hasn’t been for a while. Especially when he just had to go and get himself stabbed last night...

Apparently it wasn’t healing as good as he thought.

Infected, probably. And if it doesn’t end up killing him, Tony will. 

He jumps when someone on the screen shoots at him, killing his character for the fifth time that round. While he respawns, he squeezes his eyes shut to try and rid the white spots gathering across his vision, except when he reopens them, they don’t disappear. 

“Watch out!” 

Ned’s voice is muted, like it’s coming from another room. Peter tries to get his fingers to respond, to move the controller and evade the oncoming attack, but he can barely _see_ , let alone coordinate the movement. 

“Ned-” he rasps. 

“On your right!” 

“ _Ned._ ”

“No, Peter. Your other right!” 

The walls are twisting, his fingers going numb against the controller. He knows what’s coming and wants desperately for it to not. The cold sweat travels to break across his forehead just as his stab wound gives a particularly vicious spike of pain. He grunts, not sure if he’s going to throw up or pass out. Maybe both. _Is that even possible?_

“N-Ned-” 

This time, it’s enough. He is distantly aware of Ned turning towards him, but he’ll never get to see his friend’s reaction. Instead, he topples over into Ned’s shoulder, eyes sliding closed to a blissful unawareness.

\---

“PETER!” 

Ned gasps, dropping his remote as if it’s made out of lava in order to catch his friend. He lands heavily against Ned’s side, pushing him off balance until they end up in a messy heap on the floor. 

“Oh no. Oh _no._ Crap!”

Ned crawls out from under Peter’s dead weight, taking in his peaked, feverish skin. He jostles his friend’s shoulder, none too gently, and Peter cries out, his hands reaching out for but not touching a suspicious dark spot above his hip bone. 

“Sorry!” he squeaks, hands shaking. “Um. Think Ned. Guy in the chair, guy in the chair-” 

He wrestles his phone out of his pocket, sweating fingers sliding against his screen as he presses a contact that he _absolutely does not believe that he has_. 

It rings twice. 

“This is Stark.” 

“Uh hi Mr. Iron Man sir,” Ned stutters. 

“Why’re you calling me Ted?” 

“It’s- It’s Peter.”

A pause, charged with nervous energy. “What happened?”

“He’s at my house. We- we were playing video games and he just _passed out!_ ”

“Damn it. Is he awake now?”

“N-no!”

“Alright,” Tony says evenly, though Ned can still detect the undertones of worry hidden beneath his words. “I’m on my way. In the meantime, try and wake him up for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Ned agrees. He puts the phone on speaker and sets it to the side, shaking Peter once more. Again, his friend groans, eyebrows pulling together.

“Peter?”

“Mmm.” 

“Hey, man. Wake up.” 

Slowly, Peter does. He looks up at Ned’s ceiling in a painful confusion, opening his mouth without words. 

“He opened his eyes!” Ned yells. 

“Wha-”

“Good, good. Five minutes out.” 

Peter twists his head in Ned’s direction, wincing and eyelids fluttering. “N-Ned?”

“You’re okay,” Ned assures, then pauses. “I mean, are you? What happened?”

Groaning, Peter screws up his eyes again. “Don’ call Tony.”

“Heard that, kid.” 

“Crap.” 

Ned sits back on his heels, hands hovering frantically over Peter’s body. Through the phone, Tony’s voice filters through once more. “Keep him talking.”

“Uh- right. Peter? What’s hurting? Are you sick?”

Peter shakes his head ever so slightly. “Stabbed,” he slurs. 

“ _S-stabbed?”_

“Oh Jesus. Not again.” 

A flash of red and gold appears out of Ned’s window and his brain effectively short circuits. He rushes towards it and throws it open, heart thundering in his chest as _Tony freaking Stark_ falls out into his bedroom. 

“Pete?” the man asks tenatively. He takes three quick steps before sinking to the ground beside Peter’s limp body. Ned watches in awe at the gentleness the hero uses in wiping the damp hair out of Peter’s eyes. “I’m going to take a look, alright?” 

Peter looks two seconds away from passing out again. He lifts a wobbly hand as if to ward Tony’s advance off, but he quickly loses his strength. His hand drops back down to the carpet, breath stalling in his chest. “No- no. S’okay.”

But Tony does anyway, and Ned has to sit down at the sudden nausea of seeing the red, infected wound underneath Peter’s sweater. 

“Christ, kid. You’re literally going to be the death of me.” 

“S’ry.” 

With the grace of experience, Tony scoops Peter up into his arms. Something in the movement must be too much for Peter to handle because he slackens in the hold, eyes rolling back and his head tipping against Tony’s arm. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Ned asks nervously.

“Just fine,” Tony assures. With a carefulness Ned would never associate with the hero, he cradles Peter’s limp head against his chest and tucks his hanging arm over his stomach. After running a careful hand across Peter’s hair, he must decide they’re ready for take off. 

He pauses by the window, allowing the suit to recombine around him. “Thanks for calling me Ned. You did good.”

And just like that the pair is gone, leaving nothing but a distant draft, a paused video game, and a splotch of blood on the carpet behind. He almost thinks it’s a dream. 

He falls back on his bed, his body numb with adrenaline. _Tony freaking Stark was in his room._ He’s worried for Peter, he really is, but despite it all he smiles. 

“He finally got my name right!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh Ned I love you!! Whatta guy..  
> Well there's day 13! I hope you liked it!! Come hang out with my on tumblr @polaroid15, and see you tomorrow for "I didn't mean it" :) :)


	14. "I didn't mean it"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a bad night. Tony and May are there to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS HALFWAY!! I REPEAT, THIS IS HALFWAY!!!!! 
> 
> Also, HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!! I regret to say that this isn't valentines day related at all. In fact, it's rather angsty. Oops. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! haha

Peter hadn’t meant to break his ribs. Or get stabbed, for that matter. 

It was just a bad night. 

All heroes had them...right?

Swinging is hell on his injuries so Peter walks home. There’s no moon tonight and the streets are cold. It’s lonely, and he debates calling Ned. But it’s late and he’s scared he’ll end up crying. 

So he doesn’t. 

By the time he reaches his front door his hands are shaking so badly that he drops his key three times. He tries to hurry, not wanting anyone to see him in his suit, and nearly breaks the door handle clean off in his rush. Eventually, he succeeds, and he isn’t sure if it’s the warm air or the relief of being home, but as soon as he steps inside his knees buckle. 

“Peter!” 

May is beside him in an instant, holding onto his shoulders tightly as she pulls him further into the apartment. He can smell her perfume, sharp and clean through the blood and gore on his body, and it’s a welcome relief. 

“Oh God,” May curses, curling her fingers under his mask and peeling it off his face. “Peter? Peter are you okay?”

“Fine,” he breathes, but it hitches in his throat as a fresh wave of pain rolls over him. In truth, he feels like human roadkill. 

May isn’t supposed to be home. 

“Take it easy,” she says when he tries to push himself up. “Tell me what’s hurting.” 

Peter groans, wishing he had gone somewhere else to lick his wounds. He hates worrying her. Weakly, he tries to push away her comforting hands and feels tears in his eyes when the fight is unsuccessful. She grabs his wrists in her hands, stopping his movements and looking at him fiercely. Her face blurs in and out of view. 

“Peter Benjamin Parker. Talk to me. What’s hurting baby?” 

Finally, he gives up. 

“My ribs.” 

May continues to look at him sharply, eyebrows raised. She’s breathing heavily, but otherwise is doing well at hiding her panic. He appreciates her for it, but it only serves to worsen his guilt. 

“Your ribs and what else? You’re bleeding.” 

“And- and a cut in my side.” 

“Okay,” she says, and with more strength he would have attributed her to, she lifts them both up. They stumble as a broken mess into the bathroom, where Peter is set down on the toilet. May gets to work, and they don’t speak, May only shushing him lightly when he tenses against the sting of stitches. 

Half the first-aid kit later, May is washing blood off her hands and Peter is leaning against the counter, eyes drooping closed. The ceiling is spinning above him. He feels like a towel that has been wrung out too hard. 

“Thanks,” he whispers. Then, “I’m sorry.” 

More tears brim at his eyes. His voice cracks. _God, what’s wrong with me tonight?_

“Peter-” 

She sounds exasperated, her voice shaking. With her hands under steaming water, she scrubs harder, her skin stained pink. 

“You need to take better care of yourself.” 

Peter sits up at this, his stomach dropping like a stone. The room tilts and he wants nothing more than to crawl into bed and forget the night ever happened. “May, we’ve talked about this-”

“Peter, you can’t keep coming home covered in blood. You’re fifteen years old. I can’t- I can’t take it anymore.”

Peter sits still, trying to breathe past the sudden knot in his chest. He knows that he’s upset her, that she’s scared. “It’s my responsibility to protect the little guys,” he tries, but his voice is faint, hardly convincing to his own ears. “When I get hurt, that just means that someone else doesn’t.” 

“It’s not fair.”

_It’s really not_ , he thinks. 

“I don’t care about getting hurt.” 

“What? What do you mean you don’t care? God Peter, you should! You could _die!_ ”

Maybe it’s the pain or the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the countless horrors he’s seen, or the three times this week he’s woken up in a cold sweat. Maybe it’s the fresh memory of his long walk home, slowly bleeding out, alone. Regardless, he says it, and once it leaves his lips, it’s too late. 

“ _I don’t care, okay?_ They’re more important than me, May. They have to be. Don’t you understand? That’s- that’s the _whole point!_ ” 

He’s not sure if it’s the truth. 

Tonight, it feels like it is. 

No matter his own personal feelings about it, it’s the wrong thing to say. May flinches, and her eyes fill with tears. She slams off the taps and storms from the bathroom, leaving Peter alone. He watches her go, heart twisting, and nearly topples sideways when he tries to stand to go after her. Using the walls as support, he manages to limp into the hall. May is gone, locked in her room, so he travels to his own instead. He collapses into bed and stares up at the ceiling. 

He’s crying, he realizes faintly. 

It’s all too much. 

It’s too damn much. 

Minutes later, his phone rings. 

Wincing when it jostles his ribs, Peter reaches for the device and pulls it up to his ear with some hesitance. It’s Tony. If he ignores it, he knows his mentor will just keep calling. 

“Hey man,” he says weakly, trying to keep his voice steady as he wipes the tears off his cheeks with his sleeve. 

There’s an exhale of air, like Tony is relieved to hear his voice. “Peter.” 

“What is it?”

“I just got off the phone with May,” Tony says, and though his voice is candid, Peter can still detect the man’s worry. “She told me you were pretty beat up. How’re you feeling kiddo?” 

“Fine,” he mumbles, picking at a stray thread on his comforter. 

“Wanna try again?”

Peter bites his lips, blinking away tears of frustration. God. He should be hanging out with his friends. Playing video games with Ned. Maybe May is right. Maybe it isn’t fair. “What do you want me to say?” he snaps, “That I’m sore, that I’m tired? That I have three broken ribs and a stitched up stab wound?”

There’s a tense silence, so Peter plows onwards, the gaping hole in his chest deepening. “That I can’t close my eyes without seeing blood? Or the people I love dying? I- I should be going on dates, Tony. And- and in robotics club. I shouldn’t be collecting scars like baseball cards, or, or making May worry all the time-”

Tony cuts him off there, his voice gentle. “She worries because she cares, Pete.”

“And that’s the problem! I’m hurting her, and all I’m trying to do is help people.”

“She told me that you said you don’t care if you get hurt,” Tony says, then pauses. The space between his words feels like eons. “She said you didn’t care if you died, either.”

Peter sucks in a great lungful of air and holds it in his chest, the pressure just enough to distract him. He counts the rungs of the bunk bed above him. The argument still burns hot in his chest, and he doesn’t deny the accusation. 

“Pete?”

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispers, resolve crumbling. “Of- of course I care. I’m just tired. I’m so tired, Tony. And I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Tony says quickly. “I know you. We’re just worried about you kiddo. We love you.” 

Peter has to wipe his face again. “I know,” he chokes. 

There’s a tense silence on the other end of the line, and Peter knows there’s more Tony wants to say about the topic. He doesn’t though. “Hey,” he says instead, “how about pizza and a movie? I could be over in a half hour.”

Again, Peter feels torn. 

“Peter? Are you really going to turn down Iron Man?” 

For the first time that night, Peter smiles. It heals something in his chest that he can’t be touched with gauze or antibiotics. “Right. Of- of course not. Come over.” 

“Great. See you soon, kiddo. In the meantime, go apologize to your Aunt. Capiche?”

Peter smiles again, and relishes in the relief of it. “Capiche.” 

“I’m proud of you Peter, okay? I know it’s tough. But I’m so proud.”

“Thanks Tony.” 

It turns out bad days can become good days after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, you're my Valentines! ❤️❤️❤️ Sorry I don't make the rules :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one!   
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: "Run. Don't look back"


	15. "Run. Don't look back"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tony escape into the forest after six days of captivity.  
> They're being hunted.

It takes six days for them to escape. 

When it happens, Peter can barely see straight through his relief. 

Or, well, maybe that’s just his splitting concussion. 

He’s not sure where they are. It’s dark, and they’re surrounded by trees. Peter is supporting Tony as they limp through the unfamiliar forest. Tony must hit a root, because he sucks in air between his teeth. “Jeez, kiddo. Slow down. My foot is _broken_ , remember?”

“Sorry,” Peter pants, slowing their shared gait. It increases his anxiety, and he looks frantically through the trees, unable to decipher much through their shadows. His entire body _aches_ , covered in burns, bruises, and cuts that sting in the cold air. He forces himself not to think of the pain though, no matter how badly his body begs him to recover, and focuses instead on getting Tony as far away from their captors as possible. 

They stumble onwards, and Tony trips again. His mentor’s fingers dig into Peter’s shoulder to prevent the fall and Peter can’t help but wince at the pressure over his wounds. “Slow down!” Tony repeats, “they didn’t see us get out. They’re not after us, kiddo. Take a breath.”

“No. Can’t.”

“Peter-” 

“They’ll figure it out soon,” he argues. He feels unpleasantly lightheaded and spacey like the time he had gotten stabbed and lost nearly half his blood volume last October. “Can’t- can’t go back.” 

Rather Tony is silent, or his response is lost against the rush of blood in his ears. The older man’s limp has gotten worse, and Peter should feel bad, should offer that they rest, but he can’t stop moving. 

_He can’t._

They reach a clearing, the tall grass highlighted by the distant glare of a full moon. Peter takes three steps into it, feels the world tilt as the pain in his head suddenly triples, and comes back into awareness flat on his face and breathing in dirt. Distantly, he feels Tony’s hand on his shoulder. It pushes him onto his back, and Peter blinks away the darkness. 

“Kid?” Tony’s voice is tight with worry, just as it has been for the past six days.“You with me?”

“S’ry. Got dizzy,” he murmurs, twisting to sit up. Tony helps him, and for a minute they sit in the grass and don’t speak. It’s quiet around them, but Peter can’t help but feel that they’re being watched. 

_Hunted._

He glances over to Tony, swaying a little when it upsets his balance, and takes in the man’s gaunt expression. “How’s your foot?”

“Broken.”

“Duh.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but smiles all the same. “It’s not me we should be worried about. You just collapsed.” 

“Well, you’re heavy.”

“That’s uncalled for.” 

Peter huffs out a laugh, and for some reason, feels tears bite at his eyes. _God_ , he’s exhausted. 

“We should keep going,” Peter whispers, though his body pleads with him to stay on the ground. 

“Kid, remember that time when I said you just collapsed? Less than a minute ago? That’s still valid.”

“It was a power nap,” Peter counters. “I feel better now.” 

Tony considers this, drinking in Peter’s expression with earnesty. There’s something pinched in his expression, something that Peter recognizes as guilt, but it’s not the time to address it. “Fine,” he says, “but only because it’s getting cold.” 

Relieved, Peter stands, his fist clenched in the material at Tony’s shoulder to keep them both steady. They continue forward through the clearing and the embarrassment of his fall keeps him walking in a relatively straight line. 

_Stay focused, Peter. Keep Tony safe. Keep Tony safe_. 

They fall back into the trees, twigs snapping under their feet. Peter swallows when a sudden rush of nausea twists in his gut, and tries to ignore how his throat feels like sandpaper. 

“Where- where are we going?” Peter asks, realizing now they have no idea where they are. 

“Forward.” 

Almost immediately after the word, a sharp gunshot rings through the trees. It startles Peter so badly that he nearly drops to the ground for a second time, though he’s too late to prevent the whimper that crawls out of his chest. He grips onto Tony more tightly, feeling his heart slam against his ribcage. 

“That was close by,” Tony whispers. “ _Christ_. Too close.” 

“What do we do?” 

Tony looks torn, so Peter keeps dragging them forward. It’s less careful now, and Tony grunts and hisses through the pain. 

And Peter’s too numb to feel his own.

After another hundred yards, Peter’s vision flashes white as he hears steps through the trees. “T-Tony. I can hear them,” he gasps, tears of panic rushing back into his eyes. “They’re coming. They’re following us. They’re going to take us b-back-” 

Tony swears, slowing them into a halt. He loosens his tight hold on Peter to grab at either side of his face, angling Peter’s eyes to his own. They’re both shaking, their past six days of captivity smothering them like a shadow. “Pete. Listen to me. I’m not fast enough. You have to go on without me and get help.” 

“ _What?_ No!” 

“You _have_ to. God, Peter. Listen to me-”

“I’m not leaving you,” Peter says firmly, blinking away the moisture in his eyes and unsurprised when some of it falls onto his cheeks. He rips Tony’s hands off his face and pulls him into his side once more, pressing back into the trees. 

“Peter! I can’t run. You have to go without me.” 

“Just _walk_ ,” he pleads. 

And then, just as Peter’s spider sense flares, the darkness off to their left gathers to form a shape. A figure. 

Peter freezes, feeling everything in his body go cold. He recognizes the man, of course. This is the one who had burned his skin, had smiled when he had screamed. 

“Peter,” Tony whispers. 

He can’t move. 

“Run. Don’t look back.” 

The man walks forward, his hand on a taser. _To bring them back_. 

“Peter, go! Run!” 

Blinded by panic, Peter sets Tony against the ground, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he broadens himself, transforming his body into a human shield. 

“Parker! What the hell are you _doing?_ ” 

“You should not have left so soon,” the man calls out, getting closer, “the fun was just beginning!” 

His half healed burns feel as if they’re being touched with fire again, stealing his breath and making his head spin. 

“But no worries,” he continues, “all is forgiven.” 

Peter hears the crackle of the taser being released before he feels the pain hit his body. It comes all at once, crashing into him like a tidal wave and drawing out a fractured scream. Somewhere, he hears Tony echo the noise, and he pitches over into the grass, twitching and convulsing. 

And then, when he’s sure his eyes are going to melt out of his skull, it stops. 

“ _Peter?_ ”

He groans, trying to pull open his eyelids. He feels detached from reality, as if the whole world is outlined with static. There’s pressure on his neck that he eventually recognizes as Tony’s fingers, and turns his head in the direction to connect it with his mentor’s face. 

“You with me, bud?” 

“Mmm.” 

“That was so stupid,” Tony snaps. In the background, their captor lies on the grass, unconscious. Peter’s not sure what had happened, though it’s obvious Tony is the cause of it. “When I say run, you run. End of discussion.”

“Not good at listening,” Peter slurs. 

And Tony, despite it all, laughs. “That’s the biggest understatement I’ve ever heard.” 

Peter smiles, closes his eyes, and drifts. When he opens them again, his head is pillowed in Tony’s lap. Tony is talking, though to who he’s not sure. Upon further investigation, he sees a cellphone in Tony’s hand, no doubt belonging to the man that had tracked them down. 

Tony notices his stare and smiles comfortingly, giving him the thumbs up. When it falls, he brings his fingers into Peter’s hair, rubbing soothing circles against the ache of his concussion. 

Someone’s coming. 

Friendly, this time. 

He doesn’t have to carry Tony anymore. 

They’re safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ay-yo and there's day 15!! *mic drop* I really hope you liked this one! It's another one of my remakes on a popular trope- they're just so fun I can't resist haha. Let me know your thoughts :) Thanks again for all the support! <3
> 
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: Broken bones


	16. Broken Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight with Electro goes horribly, horribly wrong.   
> Or, this time, it's Tony that needs to be rescued. Sure, Peter might break a few bones in the process.. but, well, it's worth it.

“Spidey! On your right!” 

Peter registers his mentor’s voice just as the back of his neck prickles in warning. He shifts the trajectory of his swing and just barely misses being whammied by a column of white-blue electricity. 

“Woah,” he breathes, “thanks!”

“No prob squirt. Stay focused.” 

“Yessir.” 

The man they’re fighting has titled himself ‘Electro’. Peter would mock the lack of creativity, but his own name is literally _Spider-Man_ , so maybe he shouldn’t be too quick to judge. Regardless of the name, he’s strong and quick, and not opposed to the idea of killing them. Or anyone, really. 

Currently, their new opponent is hovering six feet off the ground, sapping energy from an electronic billboard. Sparks fly from the exchange, and dozens of people scream underneath, their hands held protectively over their heads. 

“Hey sparky!” Peter yells over the buzz of power. “Over here!”

There’s a pause where Electro rips away from the billboard, his head swiveling over in Peter’s direction. Tony curses through their com. “Did you really just call him sparky?” 

“Uh, yeah?” 

“I’m proud, kid.” 

Before Peter can respond, Electro shoots up into the air like a firework, his arms splayed out to his sides in demonstration of his newly absorbed power. He levels with Peter, his face twisting. “ _Spider_.” 

“Hey.” 

Peter flips out of the way as hot electricity hits the roof where he had just been standing. The shock of it travels, shaking the rubble under his toes and making the bottom of his feet tingle. Before another shot is fired, Peter sends off a web. It hits Electro in the face, and a jolt of electricity travels through it, hitting Peter’s web shooter and making his arm go numb. 

He must cry out, because Tony’s voice is in his ear again. “Kid? You okay? I’m on my way.” 

“Y-yeah,” Peter gasps, “webs are kind of ineffective here though. One of my web shooters just got barbequed.” 

“Damn it. Hang in there.”

Peter stands his ground. His affected web shooter is hot against his wrist, spitting out sparks, and Peter knows it’s useless. 

Not good. 

“You’ve been very annoying tonight,” Electro continues, drawing closer. “Time to end that.” 

“Wait!” Peter says sharply, holding up his good hand. “You don’t have to hurt anyone!” 

Electro is so close, Peter can see his own pattern of red and blue reflecting in the man’s eyes. When he speaks, his voice seems to vibrate through Peter’s own chest. “You’re right,” he says, “I don’t _have_ to hurt anyone.” 

Peter takes a step back, stumbling. 

“ _I want to._ ” 

Electro swings and Peter ducks, narrowly missing. He smells burnt hair as he springs back up, punching out at Electro’s face. It hits, and Peter yelps as it shocks him. Regardless, the punch does it’s job, and Electro falls back, clutching at his jaw. 

Shaking the numbness from his fingers, Peter watches in relief as Tony swoops in, kicking Electro down when he tries to stand. The man grunts and rolls, and Peter feels the roof shake as Tony lands beside him, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah.” 

“Good.” 

Electro stands, his face livid. He gathers energy around him, but Tony blasts him with fire before he can release it. He falls again. 

“Show’s over sparky,” Tony says, and Peter smiles at the repeated nickname. 

“ _No_ ,” Electro gasps. “No!” 

What comes next happens fast. 

Tony raises his gauntlet to fire off another shot, but Electro does the same. They shoot at the same time and each one hits its target. 

Peter gasps as Tony flies backwards, his suit smoking and the eyes of his suit dark. He sails straight off the roof, showing no signs of righting the movement. 

“ _Tony!_ ” 

Without stopping to look at Electro’s fate, Peter sprints to the edge of the roof, feeling his throat close in panic as his hero plummets out of sight. “Tony can you hear me?” he yells into his com. 

Hardly breathing, he dives off the roof, feeling his stomach flip as he follows Tony’s trajectory towards the ground. They’re high up. Too high. 

If Tony hits the ground, he’s dead. 

Peter reaches forward with his hand sporting the broken web shooter, fingers grappling at empty air. The Iron Man armour, still smoking, is only inches away. 

He stretches further, further than he thinks is possible. 

Finally, he feels the hot metal in his hand. The ground is impossibly close and in desperation Peter reaches out with his other hand, firing off a web to the building they had fallen from. It attaches, then snaps, and Peter bites back a scream as it tears the muscles in his shoulder. 

“Not good, not good. _Oh man_.” 

There’s no way they’re going to be able to stop safely. 

“Hang on Mr. Stark.” 

Bracing himself for the pain, Peter releases another web, this one much closer than his last. This time, it holds, but Peter screams as it also slips his shoulder out of its socket. Regardless of the pain, he hangs on tight, and the momentum slams them into the window. It shatters around them, cutting into his suit and scraping the paint off Tony’s armor. 

_Good thing it’s after hours,_ he thinks morbidly. 

Once he’s sure there’s solid ground underneath them he lets go of the web, but it does nothing to slow the crash. They hit the ground hard, crashing through cubicles. Somewhere in the mess, Peter feels a blinding pain in his chest and his leg, and Tony slips through his fingers. 

Ears ringing, he rolls another few feet before stopping against a wall. The dark office space spins around him as he tries to breathe, but it feels as if his chest has been compressed, leaving no room for his lungs to expand. 

He chokes, coughing up bile. 

“Peter!” 

There’s warm hands on his neck and on his face and Peter groans, letting them shift his gaze towards their owner. Through blurry eyes, he sees Tony’s face as if from a great distance. 

“T-Tony?” 

“ _Christ_. Yeah, it’s me.” 

“You’re okay,” he breathes, smiling. “Thought- thought-”

“Don’t close your eyes, alright? Look at me.” 

“Thought you were dead,” Peter murmurs, his voice catching. “You just fell-”

“I was okay,” Tony assures, his hands running through Peter’s hair. “The electricity shorted out my suit. My coms shut off, I couldn’t fly. You saved my life.” 

“Was nothin’.” 

Tony shakes his head, his eyes still bright with concern. “Where does it hurt, kiddo?” 

“Uh. _Everywhere._ ” 

“That’s not helpful.” 

Peter swallows hard, allowing his brain to catch up with the pain in his body. He must make a noise, because he feels Tony’s hand tighten in his hair. 

“My- my leg. Ribs. Shoulder.”

“Alright. Alright, good. I’m going to sit you up, alright?” 

Before Peter can even _think_ about nodding, Tony’s hands are under his armpits, lifting him up to sit against the wall. The shift in equilibrium lights his body on fire, and Peter leans over to puke out more acid, feeling unwarranted tears leak out of his eyes. After a while, he’s aware of Tony’s hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles. 

He collapses back against the wall, head lolling. “Sorry, sorry. I feel better now.” 

Tony is quiet for a moment. 

“We have to set your shoulder before it heals.”

Peter closes his eyes, knowing but dreading it nonetheless. Without opening them, he nods, trusting Tony completely. “Okay. Do it.” 

It’s quick. 

Peter _screams_. 

He comes back to himself leaning against Tony’s chest, breathing heavily and blinking sweat out of his eyes. Embarrassed, he tries to laugh, but it’s entirely unconvincing to the both of them. “Th-thanks.” 

“This is my fault,” Tony mutters. “If I weren’t so goddamn heavy-”

“I mean, you could lay off the burgers.” 

The look of shock on Tony’s face is something Peter wishes he could frame, and suddenly they’re both laughing. Tony ruffles his hair and rolls his eyes. “Whatever, kid. What next?”

His adrenaline is fading, leaving his body feeling as if it’s stuffed with cotton. He gestures down, vision tunneling down to a pinprick. “Feels like my ribs are broken. My leg, too.” 

“Christ, kid. You’re a disaster. You know that, right?”

“I think what you mean to say is ‘thank you for saving me from sparky, Peter,’” he slurs. 

“Thank you for saving me from sparky, Peter.” 

He smiles, and it stretches a split on his lip. “You’re very welcome.”

Then he passes out, his body deciding quite suddenly it’s finished feeling the pain. 

But it’s okay, because he knows Tony will catch him. 

He always does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's day 16!! :) Ah, I'll never tire of Peter being a bamf to protect Tony. NeVeR.   
> I hope you liked this one!! It was fun to play around with Electro's character. Though I'll admit I didn't do any research beforehand, so if there's any inaccuracies I'm so sorry haha. 
> 
> Party on tumblr with me @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: Field Surgery


	17. Field Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a fight, Peter gets shot.   
> Tony does his best.

Peter isn’t quite sure when it happens. 

Adrenaline is funny that way. 

One minutes he’s fighting, and the next, he’s on his knees. 

For a moment his senses dial down and everything seems to move in slow motion. Steve is fighting close by, his shield shooting off sparks where it collides with his opponent’s metal armor. One of many in some sort of twisted, super-soldier army. 

All the Avengers are on deck for this particular escapade. Peter had nearly fainted in excitement when Tony had called him to join them.

They’re winning, but barely. 

Everything continues to move as if it’s underwater, and Peter catches a flash of light from the opposite rooftop. It’s one of the soldiers. Despite the distance Peter can see the orange paint streaked across the man’s eyes and his grim look of satisfaction. He makes no move to hurt Peter, even though he’s shouldering a sniper rifle, and the boy wonders why. 

His attention is stolen as Steve yells out, his shield arm being kicked in. _In danger,_ Peter realizes, and feels stupid for kneeling in one place for so long. 

He tries to stand, and can’t. 

Then he feels it. 

With shaking hands, Peter spreads his fingers across his abdomen. As suspected, it hits warm blood. His vision swims. 

He’s been shot. 

“Queens?” 

Peter looks over at Steve as he tries not to hyperventilate. The hero must have bounced back because the three soldiers he had been fighting are lying prone at his feet. He’s looking at Peter with an expression that does _not_ make him feel any better, and when Peter doesn’t respond, he jogs closer. “Spider-Man? Oh no-” 

“‘S okay,” Peter slurs, holding up a hand to stop Steve from helping. _God, he’s screwed up big time._ “S’okay.” 

“It’s not okay,” Steve disagrees, his mouth pinching into a frown. His hands are hovering awkwardly near the wound. “Wow, kid. This is bad. Even for you.” 

“S’rry.” 

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay-”

A loud explosion knocks both of them onto their sides, a section of the roof disappearing in thick black smoke. Peter is distantly aware of Steve’s hands on his face, tapping on his cheeks, and he moans. 

“Spider-Man, can you hear me?” 

Through the sharp ringing in his ears, Peter hears gunfire and flinches. Somewhere above him Steve grabs his hand and helps him place it firmly back over his wound. He must’ve let go in the blast. 

“Hang on Queens,” he hears Steve say, but his voice sounds like it’s miles away. “Tony’s on his way. I have to go hold them off. Keep pressure on that.” 

“ _What?_ ” Nothing is making any sense. Peter blinks open his eyes just in time to see Steve sprinting towards the burning side of the roof where half a dozen soldiers are advancing. Peter tries to move, to stand, and gasps when bright hot pain shoots through his side. It cuts off his air and he chokes, shuddering when he tastes copper on his tongue. 

He has to help him- 

“ _Spidey!”_

Red and gold enters his vision, a blurred spot of colour against the wreckage. Metal hands rest on his shoulders. 

_“Oh God._ Peter? Peter can you hear me?” 

He thinks he groans, but he can’t be sure.

“Damn it. I’ll take that as a maybe. Okay, okay. We gotta move. We have to get off this roof.” 

_No duh_ , Peter wants to say, but his voice is stuck somewhere under the consuming block of pain in his chest. Without further warning, he feels himself being lifted. If he possessed the energy to scream he would have, and isn’t really aware of anything past that. It feels as if he’s been dropped into a fireball, every inch of his skin burning. 

Something cold lands on his face, jarring him back into his body. He gasps and opens his eyes, seeing double. Tony’s face drifts in and out of focus above him. 

_He looks scared,_ Peter thinks, and wonders why. 

“Peter?” 

“Mmm. M’ Stark-” 

“Oh God. You’re losing way too much blood kid. We’re not going to make it back to the Tower.” 

_Blood?_

Peter furrows his eyebrows, his head lolling to look down at his abdomen. His suit is a darker shade of red than he remembers. 

The cement is red, too. 

Oh. 

“I got shot,” Peter slurs, remembering. 

“I need- I need to stop the bleeding-” 

Peter’s breath hitches and he feels liquid pool into his mouth. Unable to get air past it, he turns his head and spits it out. 

Somewhere off to the side, Tony curses. The man’s hands are in his hair, rubbing circles that he’s too numb to really feel. 

“Burn it.” 

“What? Pete-”

“Burn it,” he repeats, his voice cracking. “‘S the only way.” 

In the heavy silence, Peter drifts once more. When he comes back to himself Tony’s hands are gone from his hair and he shivers. Instead, they’re held above his abdomen. 

The gauntlet is on. 

“Breathe, Peter, okay? You hear me? Breathe in nice and deep for me.” 

He tries. 

“Good, good. Again. One more time.” 

He does. 

Then Tony engages the gauntlet, and Peter’s world lights on fire. He claws against the cement underneath him, kicks out, screams. Tony’s other hand is pressed down against his shoulder, trying in vain to keep him still. 

Someone is crying, but Peter isn’t sure who.

Finally it ends and Peter is left gasping for air, surrounded by the smell of his own burning skin. His vision is dark on the edges, begging for him to give in, to let go. 

“The bleeding stopped. _Thank God.”_ Tony’s hands are back in his hair, cradling him close. Peter reaches up blindly, his own shaking hands threading around Tony’s bicep as he sobs out the rest of his energy _._ “Shh, kiddo. It’s over. It’s okay.” 

“ _T-Tony-_ ” 

“It’s okay,” he hushes, his lips pressed into the top of his head. “You can let go now, Pete. I got you.” 

“Got me,” he echoes, and his vision tunnels down to a pinprick of light. 

Then it disappears all together.

\----

Twelve hours later, Peter and Tony are in medbay eating jello. 

“So have you ever done a field surgery before?” Peter asks casually. 

Tony chokes on his jello. “ _Excuse_ me?” 

“You heard me.” 

“Uh, no. Congrats kiddo. You’re the first.”

“That’s so sick. I can’t wait to tell Ned.”

“ _Peter Benjamin Parker!_ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday! Not sure how I feel about this one tbh. I hope you enjoyed!! 
> 
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: "I can't see"


	18. "I can't see"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to talk Peter through an escape plan.   
> It's harder than it looks.

Peter wakes up to the sound of distant static. 

At first he thinks he must’ve fallen asleep to the TV again. God, May will kill him if she sees. It’s a school night and he definitely did _not_ do his calculus homework. 

It’s enough motivation to try and get up, convinced he’ll be more comfortable in his bed anyways. He can worry about his homework in the morning. Expect when he tries to stand he can’t. 

And only now does he realize that it’s really, _really_ dark. 

The static dies down, simmering faintly in the distance. Not his TV, then. The sound is replaced by heavy breathing and wood scraping on cement. 

“Pete?” 

Something in Peter’s stomach flips sideways. He tries to stand again and fails. His arms are stuck, he realizes. His feet, too. 

“Peter? Can you hear me?” 

The voice is familiar. Painfully so. “T-Tony?”

“Yeah kiddo. It’s me. How’re you feeling?” 

“Wha- what?” it’s hard to get his tongue to work and he blinks rapidly in his increasing panic, trying to dispel the darkness. His head feels like it’s filled with water. “I- I can’t see-”

“I know. Calm down kiddie. You’re just blindfolded.” 

“ _Just_ blindfolded?” 

“Okay, you’re right. My bad.” 

Peter groans, feeling spacey and light, as if the restraints pinning him to the chair are the only things keeping him tethered to earth. That at any moment he’ll float away. “Don’ feel so good.” 

“You have an IV in your arm. God only knows what they’re pumping you with.” 

“Th-they?”

“I don’t know yet.” 

“Oh,” Peter slurs, feeling his head dip. Tony yells something out but he can’t quite decipher it. For some reason, it makes him laugh. “T-Tony,” he wheezes, “everything sounds funny.” And it does, like the warped echoes in a fun house. 

More static. 

“Funny, funny, funny-” 

He drifts. 

“ _Peter Benjamin Parker!_ ” 

Peter jumps, then laughs again. “Jeez. You _scared_ me.” 

“Christ, kid. You’re acting insane. You gotta get that IV outta your arm.” 

“But- but I can’t move.” 

“Kid. You have super strength-” 

“I _do?_ ” 

There’s a weighted silence that Peter can’t work out the meaning of, blind as he is. He laughs again. It helps alleviate the fear. “S’ cool. Super strength. Super, super-” 

Tony’s breaths are picking up. “That’s right kiddo. Super. Try breaking the ropes, alright?”

Peter bites his lip and tries to pull his arms in towards him. With surprisingly little effort the material binding them to the chair snaps and his arms shoots towards his chest. They hit hard and Peter jumps again in surprise. “Ow.” 

“Great work Parker. Knew you had it in you-”

“Tony?” Peter had almost forgotten! Excited, he tries to stand. His legs feel funny, and suddenly his whole equilibrium shifts. Next thing he knows his face is pressed into the cement and he tastes blood on his tongue. Tony is whisper-yelling above him somewhere. 

“Peter! S _top_ kid. Your legs are tied!”

“Oh.” Peter flips onto his back and winces as the restraints tug against his skin. Tony curses at the noise, and Peter apologizes. He jerks his legs up and they too break free. He collapses sideways off the chair, feeling more lightheaded then ever.

“Take the blindfold off Pete.” 

“Blind,” Peter echoes, remembering that too. “Oh man _I’m- I’m blind-_ ”

“No you’re not. Jesus- just trust me, okay?” 

Peter lifts up his hands and somehow misses his face entirely. It makes him laugh again until Tony pleads with him to stop, his voice becoming increasingly pinched. Sobering a little, Peter tries again and this time feels his fingers hit the thick material wrapped tightly around the top half of his face. He pulls it up and immediately pushes it back in place, crying out when the light assaults his eyes. 

“Peter? What-” 

“The light _hurts_ Tony! Like stabby needles.” 

Another silence. 

“Oh my God. Please, Pete. This is important. I know it hurts. Just try again for me, alright?”

“Don’ wanna.”

“I’ll buy you ice cream.”

Peter considers it. “And lego?”

“The whole damn company if that’s what it takes.” 

It’s a hard offer to refuse. Without allowing himself to process the oncoming pain he yanks the blindfold off once more and throws it somewhere beside him. 

But nothing changes. It’s still black. 

“ _And_ open your eyes, kiddo.”

Oh. 

Sighing, Peter obeys. The world swims in and out of focus as his eyes burn in the harsh light. It makes him queasy, but when he sees Tony from across the room some of his discomfort fades. He tries to smile but it’s sloppy and uncoordinated on his face. “Tony!”

Despite his obvious worry, Tony musters a weak smile in return. “Did you forget I’m here or something?”

“Kinda,” Peter answers honestly.

Tony’s features tighten again. He’s looking at Peter intently. “Okay,” he says, “that’s okay. We’re almost out. I need you to take out the needle in your arm then come help me out too alright?”

“Needle?” he gulps, looking down. Sure enough, Tony is right. It’s taped in the skin on the back of his hand, and his vision tilts again. He falls sideways onto his elbow.

“Focus Peter. They could be back any minute.”

“S’ry.” Peter takes a breath, closes his fingers around the needle, and pulls it out. It makes his eyes water but he swivels back to Tony, smiling all the same in his victory. “Did it.”

“You sure did, kiddo. Now come give your old man a hand.” 

Peter giggles. “Old man.” 

He tries to stand and immediately topples sideways like a card tower. He hits the cement hard, both the impact and his subsequent cry of pain echoing through the room. Tony curses again, looking sharply at the door. “Come on kid-” 

He doesn’t see what the big deal is. “So grumpy.” 

Peter opts to dragging himself on his hands and knees. He falls twice, but ultimately makes it to his mentor’s side. With Tony’s help he’s able to navigate the ropes holding Tony in place and snaps them as if they’re made of thread. As soon as Tony’s free Peter feels the man’s arms around him, holding him close. His heart is nearly beating through his chest. 

It feels safe, he thinks, and he smiles. 

“Good job kiddo,” Tony whispers over his shoulder. “God that was not pretty.”

“Pretty,” Peter repeats, and laughs again. 

“You’re high as hell.” 

“Yup.” 

Peter gasps as Tony helps him to his feet. The room dances around him and he falls heavily into Tony’s side, who stumbles but catches him all the same. “Can you walk?” he asks softly. 

Peter thinks about it. Nods. 

“Alright. Let’s get out of here.”

They stumble towards the door. 

“You owe- owe me lego ice cream,” Peter slurs. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tony smile. 

“I sure do, kid. I sure do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's day 18! Only ten days left :'( 
> 
> THANKS FOR EVERYTHING!!!!! ALL THE SUPPORT ON THIS IS ASTOUNDING AND I LITERALLY TEAR UP EVERYDAY READING ALL THE SWEET COMMENTS YOU LEAVE. I'M SO SO GRATEFUL FOR THE LOVE. YOU'RE ALL SO AMAZING! Hope you liked this one! 
> 
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: sleep deprivation


	19. Sleep deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter exposes the three hours of sleep he's been able to pull all week while sparring with Steve at the compound. Tony is a worried dad as always, and Peter learns that sometimes it's okay not to be okay.

Peter is having a _bad day._

Scratch that. A bad _week_. It all started on Monday, of course, when he’d spent the entire night staring at the dark roof of his room, his brain running a mile a minute and reminding him of horrors he would much rather forget. 

On Tuesday, it had been the same. 

On Wednesday, he fought the whole night to keep tears out of his eyes.

On Thursday he managed to sleep a couple hours, but had woken up in a cold sweat. He had cried then, and stayed up the rest of the night writing an essay that wasn’t due for another three weeks. 

On Friday, he stopped trying. 

Now today, Saturday, he feels no better than a walking corpse. He’s at the Compound and staring intently at a glass of water, watching transfixed as a bead of moisture runs down the side and disappears into the table below. 

Another falls.

His eyes droop. 

He’s so tired-

“ _Peter?_ ” 

With a sharp pang in his chest, Peter turns to the source of the noise, landing blearily on Tony’s face. The man’s standing across from him, hands on his hips and looking somewhere in the middle ground between annoyance and worry.

“Yeah?”

“Jeez, kid. I just tried calling your name like five times. You feeling alright?”

Peter swallows against the sudden knot in his throat and nods hastily. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m good.”

Tony assesses him carefully, eyes narrowing down to slits. He doesn’t comment on how Peter looks, though he’s sure it’s terrible, and shrugs. “Whatever you say kiddo. Steve was wondering if you wanted to spar with him for a bit? He’s getting tired of the punching bags.” 

Peter blinks, trying to organize the information in his head. When it clicks, he forces himself to smile. “Right. Okay. I’ll be right there.” 

“I’ll walk with you.” 

Forcing himself not to sway, Peter pushes his legs up and walks in a determined straight line towards Tony. The man wraps his arm around Peter’s shoulder, and this time Peter _does_ stumble, though Tony pays it no attention. “I want you to knock Mr. Star-spangled to the ground, ya hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Peter chuckles. 

“Good man.” 

Miraculously, they make it to the training room in one piece. Tony releases his grip on him at the doorway and Peter almost misses a step at the sudden absence. Correcting it before he exposes his rapidly fading health, he makes his way over to Steve who’s standing on the mats wrapping his knuckles in tape. His eyes narrow as Tony’s had when he sees him. “Hey Pete. You feeling okay?”

“Perfectly.”

“You look sick.” 

“I’m fine, Mr. Rogers.” 

“Steve.”

“I’m fine, _Steve._ Heard you wanted a sparring partner?”

“If you’re up for it,” Steve nods.

“Always. Are _you?”_

Steve smiles softly. “Always.”

Peter notices Tony settling down on a bench on the sidelines, a stark pad on his lap. Above him is a whiteboard with Peter and Steve’s names scrawled in black marker, keeping tally of their previous matches. Ten for Steve, and four for Peter. 

Not bad, he thinks, seeing as it’s _Captain freaking America_. 

“Kick his butt!” Tony calls as they square up. 

Steve delivers the first punch and Peter sidesteps it easily, a burst of adrenaline rushing through his veins. It makes him feel good, better than he has in weeks in fact, and he smiles wide at the sudden wakefulness. 

He punches back. 

It goes on for a while, longer than their usual matches. All the while, Tony spares glances up from his work to cheer Peter on.

For a minute, he manages to forget he hasn’t slept in a week. 

But it’s too good to be true. _Of course_ it is. Because he’s Peter, and that’s just how it is. 

It starts when his adrenaline fades. It leeches away from him, leaving him feeling shaky and nauseous. He gets hit twice, but it doesn’t hurt much. He senses Tony straightening, watching more closely, and Peter tries harder to maintain his focus. 

When his vision starts to blur, he knows that logically, he should stop, that he should tap out. 

_He’s just so tired of being tired._

Peter manages to land a hit of his own, but it’s sloppy and makes his head spin. When he steps back he overcalculates and nearly stumbles. Steve must notice that something is off because his hands pause to wipe the sweat off his face. “Peter?”

He doesn’t want to hear an ‘ _are you okay’_ , because he’s not. He’s really, really not. 

Suddenly angry, he lashes out at Steve. It upsets his carefully gained balance and the world shifts dangerously on its axis. Darkness gathers on the edges of his vision and it’s so damn relieving that he doesn’t even try to fight it. 

Instead, he dives right into it. 

He doesn’t feel it when he hits the ground. 

\---

Tony had known there had been something off with the kid as soon as he had walked through the doors. He was spacey, mumbly, and uncoordinated as a newborn deer. Granted, he had tried to pull explanations, tried to justify it as one of the kid’s bad days. He made himself believe it when Peter said he was alright. 

God, why does he ever trust that kid?

Because now, Tony watches as Peter stumbles on the mat as if drunk, squinting at Steve like he’s seeing double. He notices Steve’s hesitation, sees Peter push forward regardless and deliver a weak punch. Somewhere in the motion Peter’s eyes roll up in his head and he drops limply to the ground, Steve barely managing to catch him on the way down. 

He drops the Stark pad to the ground and bolts to his feet, running over to the pair with his stomach dropping down to his toes. Steve has layed Peter out on his back, the kid’s face pale and covered in sweat. 

He looks lifeless, Tony thinks, feeling acid crawl up his throat. 

“Pete?” he falls to his knees, tapping quickly on the boy’s face. He remains motionless, though, and Tony feels the anxiety in every nerve in his body increase by tenfold. 

“Pete? Peter! Oh God- FRIDAY? What’s wrong with him?”

Steve takes over in trying to rouse the boy, shaking him lightly by the shoulders as FRIDAY’s voice fills the room around them. “It appears Mr. Parker is experiencing severe sleep deprivation.”

“Severe-” Tony chokes. “What do we do?”

“A better location to rest would be advised.”

Steve lays a steady hand on his shoulder and it’s only then that Tony realizes how tight his chest is. “Breathe, Tony.” 

He does.

“I’ll carry him.” 

Tony follows numbly as Steve hoists Peter up into his arms. He tries not to notice the way Peter’s arm hangs limply, or how his head lolls against Steve’s arm. 

Eventually they make it to Peter’s room where Steve deposits him in the open covers that Tony parts. Tony immediately sits on the edge of the bed, fussing, and Steve stands almost awkwardly. “Let me know when he gets up?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

Another pause. “He’ll be okay, Tony.”

More tears sting at Tony’s eyes. He feels like a goddamn failure, but he nods anyways, and Steve exits quietly. 

Fifteen minutes later, Peter wakes up. 

He can tell by the expression on the kid’s face that he’s confused as hell. He scooches closer, a small portion of his anxiety fading at the sight of Peter’s eyes. “Hey, kiddo. You’re alright. You’re at the compound.” 

“What?” Peter asks, breathless. He looks around, then at Tony, his eyes painfully clouded. Then almost at once it sharpens with realization. He struggles to sit up and Tony pushes him back. He expects the kid to apologize for the swan dive, for him to be embarrassed, but instead, his brown eyes only widen further. “How- how long was I asleep?”

“Uh. Twenty minutes?”

“Twenty-” Peter chokes, falling back and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. To Tony’s surprise, he sees tears leak from behind them, and he leans forward, grabbing gently at Peter’s wrists. “Hey, hey what’s wrong bud?”

Peter looks up at him with red rimmed eyes. He looks terrible. “ _I’m so tired, Tony_ ,” he whispers. 

And just like that, Tony feels his heart shatter. 

“FRIDAY says you’re sleep deprived,” he says, “when’s the last time you had a good night’s rest?”

“I’ve had three hours.” 

“Last night?”

Peter shakes his head, choking on a sob. “All _week_.” 

Tony stills, pulse doubling. “What?”

“I’m sorry-”

“Wait, hang on kid. Don’t apologize. I just wanna make sure I heard you right. You’ve only slept three hours all week?”

Slowly, Peter nods.

“Oh.” 

They sit in a heavy silence while Peter works furiously to wipe the tears off his cheeks. 

“Why haven’t you been able to sleep?”

Peter freezes. 

“Pete. I can’t help unless you talk to me.” 

He sighs, too tired to put up a fight. “I can’t turn my brain off,” he admits quietly. “All I see when I close my eyes is- is _violence_. People I couldn’t save, blood, and just, so much _death_. Me dying. _Y-you_ dying.” He shudders, and Tony wraps a warm hand around Peter’s wrist. “It’s too much.”

“I understand.”

“You- you do?”

“Course I do. Like father, like son right?”

Peter gapes, eyes widening to an alarming size. “ _What?_ ” 

“It’s hard to shut off,” Tony presses on, “but it’s possible with the right help. Do you want help, Peter?”

“Yes.” 

Tony shifts, feeling tears of his own well in his eyes. He pulls Peter up into a hug before he can stop himself. “I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

Peter sighs in his hair and Tony feels more of the kid’s weight drop against him. “Feel safe with you,” he mumbles. 

And just like that, Peter is asleep.

Tony can hear it in the way the kid’s breath evens out, how his head shifts on Tony’s shoulder. Holding his breath, he holds Peter still for a moment, hardly believing it. Then, with a sudden warmth in his chest, he lays Peter back down, tucking the covers up to his chin. 

He moves to leave, but Peter’s cold hand finds it’s way around his wrist. 

“Stay.”

And he does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh Irondad will ACTUALLY be the death of me. I'm not kidding lol. Hope you liked this one! I didn't have as much time to comb through it so hopefully there aren't too many mistakes :) ALSO I HOPE YOU'RE HAVING A GREAT DAY!!! <33
> 
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: Betrayal


	20. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How bad?” Tony asks. 
> 
> “Not bad.” 
> 
> “Pete-”
> 
> “I’m serious! I’ve gotten ten times worse as Spider-Man.”
> 
> When Tony looks at him, it’s gentle, and it nearly brings him to tears. “But you weren’t Spider-Man, buddy.” 
> 
> Or, Peter just wanted a coffee.

It’s not everyday that Peter is pistol whipped in the face by a Starbucks customer. 

Today, however, _is_ that day. 

He’s at the front of the line, finally, and just as the cashier hands him his change a man wearing a crudely cut ski mask shoots two bullets into the ceiling. Everyone screams, ducks, and through the mass panic Peter hears his handful of change roll across the floor. 

“Are you kidding me-” 

“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND!” 

Peter listens, trying his best to keep calm as he assesses his surroundings. The store has six customers and two employees. Another masked individual joins the first, also holding a gun. 

That they’re not afraid to use, apparently. 

Slowly and praying not to draw attention, Peter’s fingers close around the watch Tony had given him for his birthday and presses the side button three times. He’s only used the distress signal once before, and Tony had been at his side to help within a matter of minutes. 

These idiots won’t even know what hit them. 

The first man crosses behind the counter and shoves his gun into the barista’s face. “Open the register.” 

For a minute, Peter thinks she’s going to refuse, her eyes set with anger and fear. As if getting the same sense, the man with the gun presses the barrel hard against her cheek and she whimpers. “ _Now,”_ he repeats, and she obeys with shaking hands.

Even though she complies, the man steps closer, his trigger finger tensing as the first inch of the barrel practically disappears into her face. Spidey sense screaming, Peter stands carefully, hands outstretched, “hey, hey. Come on man. Ease up. She’s doing what you asked-” 

“ _On the ground_ ,” the second goonie yells at him, spit flying from his mask. Peter freezes on the spot, eyes glued on the trembling barista. For one terrible moment, he’s brought back to a dark alley, his hands pressing down desperately on Ben’s chest. 

“The register’s open,” Peter reasons, “let her go.” 

“Looks like someone’s trying to play hero,” the first robber sneers. He pushes the barista aside and she falls onto the floor with a strangled yelp. “Grab him.” 

Peter doesn’t flinch as the man’s accomplice obeys, digging strong fingers into his bicep and dragging him out of line. His back is brought against the man’s chest and the gun is pressed into his throat. He swallows at the pressure and keeps his eyes trained on the first man, who’s stuffing a duffel with cash. 

Outside, there’s sirens. 

“Damn it!” 

The first man slams the empty drawer closed, throwing his gun out widely, “which one of you called the police?”

Peter almost laughs. _Almost_. “Are you kidding? You would’ve heard it if someone called. It’s a small room, buddy-”

A sharp pain in his face nearly sends him crashing to his knees. Blood pools onto his tongue but he keeps it there, not wanting to scare the other customers. Through the aching pulse in his head he hears a couple of them gasp.

“Not the time to be smart, kid.”

“Well you’re the ones who decided to rob a _Starbucks_ of all places.” 

Before Peter can even suck in a breath, he’s hit three more times, all where the first blow had landed. This time he _does_ fall, and the man kicks him in the ribs for good measure when he’s down. The force of it has him gasping and somewhere in the distance Peter hears a kid crying. 

_Don’t think about Ben, don’t think about Ben._

“Police are here. Damn it. What do we do?”

Peter hears shuffling as he tries to reoriente himself, his head spinning like a top. He only makes it to his elbows before his jacket is grabbed at its shoulder and he’s manhandled to his feet. He sways but stands his ground, wiping the blood off his chin with his sleeve.

“We take him with us.” 

Peter doesn’t have the energy to argue as he’s dragged to the entrance by his neck. Through the glass and a rapidly swelling eye, Peter sees a semi circle of police, completely closing off an escape. He thinks he sees a flash of red and gold, too, but he can’t be sure. 

“Walk, kid. No funny business.”

And he does, grateful, above everything else, that no one got hurt. 

With a forceful shove, Peter is thrown out of the store, the grip on his neck still strong. He knows it’ll bruise in the shape of fingers, that he’ll stare at it in the mirror later and shudder at the memory of the touch. 

“Drop your weapons!”

Peter yelps as the back of his knee is kicked in, forcing him to the ground. One of the men grabs his hair, forcing his head back, and sticks his gun underneath his chin. “Make another move and the kid gets it!” 

It’s only now that Peter realizes his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. Tony _is_ here, standing on the sidelines of officers, his eyes blown wide with panic before his expression is cut off by his helmet. 

He feels too dazed to be relieved. 

“Let the kid go!” he hears one of the officers yell. 

“Let _us_ go!” 

Peter chuckles again, and he’s not sure why. He feels warm blood dribble down his chin, and the grip tightens in his hair until he’s sure it’s going to be pulled right out of his scalp. 

Whatever the men holding him had thought this was going to go, it must not be working, because one of the hisses a “get up” in his ear. Peter tries to listen, but he feels shaky and weak, and mostly just lets himself be dragged. He ends up back against the man’s chest, the gun pressed so forcefully into his temple that the opposite side of his head nearly touches his shoulder. 

Only now does he let himself be afraid. 

He could die. 

Not as Spider-Man, not as a hero, but as himself. Right now. At _Starbucks_ , of all places. 

In front of Tony. 

His mentor would never forgive himself. 

“Walk,” the man hisses in his ear, and Peter stumbles obediently along with them as they step away from the door. The police follow them with their guns but otherwise don’t move. 

“Where are you going to run?” Peter chokes. “It’s already too late.”

“Shut up.” 

“There’s no way out of this.”

“I said shut up!” 

Peter gasps when his head is hit again, his vision whitening at its edges. He must slump because the man struggles to keep him vertical. Somewhere in his fall Peter hears a familiar blast of repulsors and the hostile touch leaves him instantly. He falls to the cement, barely managing to catch himself on his elbows. 

There’s a sudden rush of movement and Peter winces at the sheer _loudness_ of it all. He hears muffled curses, boots hitting the pavement, the hostages inside the store cheering- 

“ _Peter?_ ” 

And then there’s Iron Man, crouched down beside him and lifting up his chin gently with a metal-clad hand. Peter blinks away his double vision and musters a weak smile. “Hey man,” he wheezes, “coffee break?”

Tony doesn’t laugh like Peter hoped he would. Instead, he feels the armour shift under his arms and he’s lifted up, up and away. He jams his eyes closed at the sudden vertigo and lets out a tense breath when they land together on a nearby rooftop. In a second Tony is out of the suit and sitting beside Peter, his hands ghosting over the blood and bruises on his face. 

“Concussion?” 

“Look at my face. What do you think?”

“Cut that sass, kid. I have enough for the both of us. Anything else hurt?”

“Uh, my pride?”

“Ha. Funny. Now tell me the real answer.”

Peter sighs, and somewhere in the middle chokes on the blood in his throat. It makes his ribs flare and the wince he makes must be enough for Tony to piece two and two together. 

“How bad?” he asks. 

“Not bad.” 

“Pete-”

“I’m serious! I’ve gotten ten times worse as Spider-Man.”

When Tony looks at him, it’s gentle, and it nearly brings him to tears. “But you weren’t Spider-Man, buddy.” 

He sighs again and this time it’s easier. He lays down against the pavement in hopes it’ll stop the world from spinning while Tony hovers beside him like a worried mother hen. “Didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“So let me guess,” Tony says, “you smart mouthed them.”

“Yep.”

“Course you did.”

Peter groans, poking gingerly at his swelling eye. He can barely see out of it anymore, which is highly unfortunate. “I lost my change. _And_ I didn’t even get my drink.”

“Well, you’re alive, so that’s something.” 

“Starbucks is _expensive,_ Tony. I was _treating_ myself.”

“I’ll buy you the whole damn Starbucks company if it’ll stop you from getting your face smashed in.” 

Peter laughs at this. It makes his ribs burn. “Deal.”

Tony is quiet for a minute. “Feel up for a flight back home?” 

_Home_. 

He smiles. 

“Only if we can pick up a coffee on the way.”

“Good God, kid. Look at these grey hairs. No _seriously_ , I want you to look at them.”

Peter huffs out a laugh, head lolling slightly as Tony pulls him back up by his arms. Before they lift off, Peter is surprised when Tony wraps him in a hug. He blinks, then relaxes into it. It feels as if some of his pain is leaking into Tony. 

He feels better.

“Thanks for coming,” he whispers.

Tony pulls away, ruffling his hair softly, his scalp still sore. “How couldn’t I? You were smart for once in your life and actually used the panic button I gave you-”

“Smart enough for a coffee?” Peter smirks, a cut on his lip stinging. 

Tony looks at him solemnly and shakes his head. 

“Grey hairs, Pete. Grey hairs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy with how this one turned out!! It was definitely inspired by other fic writer's amazing hostage-situation type fics, such as Solstice's. (You've probably already read their work but if not definitely go check it out!) 
> 
> Only 8 days left :( How did this happen??? 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you're having a great day my friends <3 Find me on tumblr @polaroid 15 and see you with tomorrow's prompt: "Torture"


	21. Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first video comes at midnight.

The first video comes at midnight. 

Tony doesn’t even _know_ that the kid is missing until he opens the email and clicks on the attachment. When the grainy image comes into view he nearly falls to his knees, terror seizing every inch of his body and causing the tool in his hand to break. He battles to pull air into his lungs, willing it not to be true. 

Because Peter is hanging by chained wrists in a dark cement room, head lolling and covered from head to toe in cuts and bruises. The audio is distant, quiet. 

Someone steps into the screen. They’re dressed completely in black, their face concealed. They approach Peter who whimpers quietly at the close proximity, pulling weakly against the chains keeping him in place. In all his years of knowing Peter he’s never seen the kid look so openly afraid in the face of opposition. 

And that’s when Tony realizes that Peter has no idea he’s being filmed. 

“Please-”

Ignoring the half-hearted plea, the man on screen shoves a cattle prod into Peter’s side. He screams, chokes, and writhes. His chains clink and by the fifth time the metal is jabbed into him there’s blood running down his arms from where his wrists have split open. 

“St-stop.”

Another. Another. _Another._

And then Peter doesn’t move, stops reacting, and Tony knows he’s passed out. 

The man walks slowly to the camera. Tony expects a speech, or a threat, _anything._ But instead, the feed clicks off. 

Tony throws up.

When he’s finished, he wipes his sleeve across his face and struggles to his feet, his entire body thrumming with a semi-truckload of anxiety. 

_Not Peter. Anyone but Peter-_

“FRI. Can- can you trace the video? 

A short pause. 

“Negative. Sorry sir. Something seems to be blocking the signal.”

“Help me find him.” 

“Of course.”

“And get Happy in here.”

“Right away, boss.”

He won’t sleep until the boy is safe.

\---

The next video arrives the following night at the same time. 

Happy steadies him when he stumbles and together they sit by the computer monitor. Tony’s hands are shaking too badly to click on the file, so Happy does it for him. 

This time, Peter’s hands are tied behind his back. He’s crouched in front of a tub of water, fighting against someone’s hold. 

“Please. Just tell me what you want-”

Then his head is submerged.

Happy tenses beside him and Tony feels as if all the air has been punched out of his chest. He watches numbly as Peter struggles under the hold, kicking out and convulsing, spilling water all over the floor. Only when the fight drains out of him is he lifted out. Tony hears the boy choke and cry, trying to pull oxygen into his lungs, and then he’s pushed straight back under. 

Peter doesn’t really fight the second time, and in what feels like hours but must only be seconds, he’s completely limp against the mouth of the tub. 

The feed cuts off before he’s lifted out. 

And Tony sees white, his world dissolving into static. Distantly he can sense Happy calling his name. Can feel his hand on his shoulder.

_“Breathe, Tony._ _Breathe._ ” 

How can he, though, when Peter can’t?

“We’ll find him. We’ll bring him home.” 

\---

Tony spends the next day flying around New York, busting in through every building that could possibly match the kid’s location. With each bought of shattered glass, he comes closer and closer to utter madness. 

Nothing. 

Gone-

At midnight, Tony gets the notification. He collapses on a rooftop and allows FRI to push the clip through. Tonight Peter is strapped to a chair. He’s punched over and over with brass knuckles until he’s spitting blood and incoherent. 

Tony sits in the darkness and cries. 

\----

By the end of the week the whole Avengers team is searching for Peter. 

Tony can barely walk straight, his whole week a blur of seeing his kid in pain and unable to do anything about it. 

There’s been no demands, no clues, nothing. 

Just pain. 

_Oh God._

They get the seventh video right on schedule. It’s him, Bruce, Steve, and Natasha in the room tonight, and they gather around the monitor, hoping to God for a breakthrough. 

He’s hanging from chains again, entire body is slumped as if he can’t hold his own weight anymore. His eyes flutter weakly, like he could be dreaming. 

“ _Tony_.”

Tony stops breathing. It’s the first time the kid has said his name. 

_“Tony,”_ he chokes out again, his voice broken from screaming. “ _I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”_

He can’t watch anymore, the audio burning a hole into his brain. He backs away from the screen and feels Bruce’s hand on his wrist. 

_“Tony. Help. Please.”_

And then Peter is crying, and Tony crumbles. 

They don’t even hurt him this time. 

They don’t have to.

\----

On the ninth day, they get their clue. 

Peter is hanging from the chains again. He’s slurring out words, delirious as hell. 

“One hole in one. One hole in one.”

Tony chokes on a sob. They’re _losing_ him. 

“ _One hole in one-_ ” 

Tony is about to shut off the video, unable to take it, but Bruce hits his hand away, eyes impossibly wide. 

“What?” Natasha asks sharply. 

“One hole in one,” Bruce mutters. “Oh my God.”

“Spit it the hell out!” Tony yells. 

“ _Ohio,”_ Bruce breathes. “One hole in one. It’s an acronym. _God,_ he’s a genius! He must’ve realized he’s being recorded-”

“Ohio,” Tony repeats, feeling suddenly lightheaded. “He’s in _Ohio?_ ”

“He has to be.”

Before he can take another breath he’s in a suit and blasting through the window. 

\----

On the flight over, the rest of the team works hard on narrowing down possible locations. They send him the three most likely. 

The first two are empty. 

“Come on,” Tony mumbles, minutes away from the last. “Please, please please.” 

It’s an old butcher shop. 

FRIDAY alerts him of five heat signatures inside. 

“Is Peter in there?” he asks numbly. 

“One of the heat signatures matches the approximate size of Peter Parker, yes.”

And it’s all Tony needs to fire the door off its hinges. 

It feels as if he’s in someone else’s body entirely. In a matter of seconds everyone is on the floor. He wants nothing more than to kill them, to make them suffer as they have Peter, but he can’t wait another second. 

He follows FRIDAY’s prompt to the basement. 

And when he pushes open the door, _he’s there._

Tony falls to one knee in the doorway, his vision blurring with tears. Peter is chained by his wrists in the room's center, his head dipped into his chest and dripping blood. He looks the worst Tony has ever seen him, skin and bones and not an inch of skin unmarred from violence. 

He looks dead. 

“Peter- Pete-”

He practically crawls forward, ending up in a messy tangle of limbs beside the boy’s slumped body with his suit disengaged behind him. With enormous care, Tony cradles Peter’s head in his hands, rubbing his thumbs across the boy’s cheeks. 

“ _Peter?_ ” he whispers, voice cracking, “come back to me, bud. I’m here now.” 

Peter moans. It’s quiet. His head tips against the touch, his bloody face contorting in pain. 

The relief in seeing the kid moving and alive has Tony’s building tears spilling over onto his face. When he speaks again, it’s a sob. “Thank God. Peter-” 

Peter jerks weakly as if afraid, but Tony just holds on tighter. “It’s me, kiddo. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Slowly, Peter opens his eyes. 

Through the delirium, something clicks.

And Peter is crying, too. 

“T-Tony?”

There are no words to respond with, nothing within the limits of human language to express how he feels seeing Peter alive. He wraps the kid in his arms, cradling his head into his neck and hanging on with everything he has. Peter relaxes, sniffling and shaking. _“You came.”_

“I’m so sorry Pete,” Tony chokes. He directs the suit to cut through Peter’s chain and he drops like a stone when the pressure is relieved, his hands puffy and purple. Tony holds them in his own, keeping the kid close to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Peter mumbles. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “Here now.” 

“You’re going to be okay. I promise. You’re safe now.”

It must be all Peter needs to hear. Another tear falls as his head dips heavily into Tony’s chest. 

“We’re going home.”

\----

A week later, Peter is allowed to leave his hospital bed. 

They have a celebratory dinner with the team, but Peter barely eats two bites and goes white in the face whenever someone approaches him. 

Tony ends it early, thanking everyone for their help at the door and finds Peter curled up in the corner of the room, head hidden under his folded arms. He looks like a mummy, Tony thinks, with all his bandages and casts. 

It all makes his chest ache. 

“Pete?”

He slides down the wall to sit by the boy when he doesn’t respond. “Sorry if this was too much too soon.” 

“It wasn’t,” Peter whispers, “sorry. It was really good to see everyone. Thanks for putting it all together.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I’m really happy they could all come.”

“Okay,” Tony says, and for a moment, they sit in silence. 

“I’m scared all the time,” Peter says suddenly, so quietly that Tony nearly misses it. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

He swallows, feels his heart skip a beat as it shatters in his chest. 

“I know, kiddo. I’m sorry.”

“How do I make it stop?”

And he wishes he had the answers. God, he wishes for it more than anything. 

“Talking about it helps,” Tony says, “if you feel up to it.”

Peter stills. He looks incredibly small. 

“It was cold,” he whispers. “All I felt was pain. I couldn’t turn it off. I had no idea where I was. They wouldn’t even _talk_ to me. And I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be a hero-”

“You are,” Tony interrupts firmly. 

“I couldn’t make it stop. And I’m _Spider-Man_.”

“You and your big genius brain are the only reason we were able to find you,” Tony says. Then, more quietly, “none of this is your fault, kiddo.” 

He sighs long and deep. It catches in his chest. “I know.”

“We’re all here for you,” Tony says, placing a careful hand on Peter’s arm. He rubs his thumb in a slow circle and prays it’s a small comfort. “Every step of the way, okay?”

Peter nods, and uses his free hand to wipe a tear off his cheek. “Thanks, Tony.”

“You’re family. This is what family does.”

“Family,” Peter echoes quietly. 

“No matter what.”

For the first time since being brought home, Peter’s face breaks into his first genuine smile. It’s small and hesitant, but it’s a step in the right direction. He pulls Peter into a hug and vows to never let go. 

“Love you, kid.”

“Love you too.”

And slowly, they begin to heal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the angst traaaain :) haha. Hope you liked this one! It was a little on the longer side but I just couldn't help myself   
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯   
> Thanks for reading!! <3 We're entering the last week! 
> 
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: burned (more fluffy this time- I promise!!!)


	22. Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tony attempt to make dinner. Turns out, Peter is the worst chef in existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought you guys deserved a fluffier prompt today! (Especially after the angst of yesterday hahaha). So kick back, relax, and enjoy the domestic craziness :)

If someone had told Peter’s younger self that one day he would make pasta with Tony Stark he would’ve laughed himself to an early grave. 

But here they are. 

Their night had started in the lab, working side by side under the heavy influence of Metallica as they tinkered with suit upgrades. Then after a particularly loud stomach growl from the spider-teen Tony had immediately dropped his tools and hauled him upstairs to the kitchen. 

“Put some water on the stove,” Tony instructs, handing him a pot. 

“Aye aye captain.”

Smirking when Tony rolls his eyes dramatically, Peter shoves the pot under the faucet and fills it to the brim with water. He doesn’t make it one step before Tony is yelling at his incompetence and dumping out half the liquid. 

“What’re you trying to do, drown it?”

“ _No._ ”

With the corrected pot in hand, Peter places it on the burner and cranks it to its max setting. He turns back to Tony, who’s pulling boxed pasta from the cupboards. “Now what?”

Tony flicks his eyes up, looking amused. “Something tells me you’re not much of a cook, Pete.”

“First off, that’s rude. Secondly, you’re absolutely right.” 

Tony laughs. “Don’t worry kiddo. I’ll set you straight.”

“I didn’t know Iron Man was also a chef.” 

“Iron Man is great at everything.”

“Well it’s not like cooking boxed pasta is _that_ hard.”

“You don’t even know how to boil water, Pete.”

“I do _now._ ” 

“Alright, alright. Yeesh.” 

When the water is bubbling Tony hands him the open box of pasta to dump in. Peter does and proceeds to stir it when handed a wooden spoon. Tony retreats to the fridge to find sauce and after a moment, frowns. “Damn it. No sauce, kiddo.”

“No sauce?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Well is there anything else we can use?”

Tony looks thoughtful. “There might be something in the fridge downstairs.”

Peter scoffs. “I can’t believe you have more than one fridge.”

“Four, actually.”

“ _Exactly_. That’s too many fridges.”

“I disagree. Think you’ll be good here while I go check?”

“Um, yeah Tony. I _think_ I can handle stirring noodles.” 

“Alright, Mr. Responsible. I’ll be back.”

Peter watches him leave, his brain still trying to process that he’s making _pasta_ with freaking _Iron Man._

He can’t be gone for more than two minutes before everything goes horribly, terribly wrong. 

For some reason unknown to him, the pot begins to bubble up with thick white foam. Panicking, he tries to blow on it, but it does nothing to slow the rise. In another second it spills over, crackling and popping against the stovetop. It leaves ugly marks against the dark material, and Peter’s mind goes blank, thinking he’s just single-handedly ruined Tony Stark’s stove. 

“Crap,” he mutters, and spidey senses out the window reaches to grab the pot as if to keep the water contained. A mixture of hot water and metal assaults his left hand and he screams out a curse, yanking it away and pushing it under his armpit in an attempt to stop the sharp pain. The pot is _still_ boiling over so Peter grabs the handle and runs it towards the sink. He throws it in, breathing heavily, and blinks stinging tears of pain out of his eyes. 

“Pete?”

Oh no. 

Peter spins, keeping his hand concealed under his arm. Tony is standing at the kitchen’s entrance, looking amused and holding a jar of red sauce in his hand. “What happened?” 

“I- well, um-”

“Is the pot in the sink?”

“I panicked!” 

Tony’s eyes sweep over the mess of a kitchen, chuckling. “Wow, kid. You really are bad at cooking.”

“I get it from May,” Peter mumbles, the fire in his hand growing brighter with every second he stands there. Tony must see something on his face because he walks over beside him, setting his jar on the counter. 

“Peter Benjamin Parker. Why are you hiding your hand?”

“I’m not hiding my hand.”

“It’s tucked under your arm.”

“It’s how all the cool kids stand these days Tony-”

“Nope,” Tony cuts him off, “not buying that for a second. Show me.”

Peter hesitates. 

“ _Now_.”

Sighing in defeat, Peter releases the pressure and lifts his burned hand out towards Tony. It’s not a pretty sight, his skin flushed red with white blisters cutting through. Tony groans when he sees it, grabbing at its edges gently. “Peter I was gone for _five minutes_!” 

“I know!” Peter says, yanking his hand back and grinding down his molars when it flares with pain. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“C’mere kid.” 

Tony guides him to the sink, turning the water on to a light drip. After he’s satisfied with the temperature he holds Peter’s hand under it. It makes it feel _worse_ , Peter decides, and he sticks his uninjured hand into his mouth to keep from crying out. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Tony mumbles, concentrated. “This’ll help after a minute.” 

The white-hot pain tells him otherwise but Peter manages to nod, refusing to embarrass himself further. “Sorry about the noodles.”

Tony sags. “Are you kidding me?”

“You were hungry!”

“I’ll order us some takeout, idiot.”

“I’m hopeless.” 

“Gordon Ramsay would be most displeased,” Tony agrees. 

At this, Peter manages to smile. Maybe Tony is right after all, because some of the sting in his hand recedes. After another couple minutes Tony twists off the tap. “Alright, up to medbay we go.”

“Yipee,” Peter remarks dryly. 

“This is your own fault,” Tony reminds him. 

“Don’t kick me when I’m down please.” 

Tony pats his shoulder, laughing. It’s such a domestic moment that Peter almost forgets about his blistered skin all together. 

“We’ll try again next time,” Tony says. 

Peter groans. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY GUYS I AM SO SO GRATEFUL FOR YOU ALL!!! I'm honestly dreading for this to be over I've had so much fun this month and have made so many new friends and ahhhhhh I'm just so, so grateful. It's hard to convey how happy you all make me so you're just going to have to take my word for it haha <3 Just, thank you :) and LOVE YOU!!
> 
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: "Don't look"


	23. "Don't look"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tony will do anything to protect each other. 
> 
> Or, another kidnapping chapter.. are we surprised? I'm not :)

“ _Don’t look_ , Tony. Don’t look-”

Peter’s words die in a stilted scream as he’s hit viciously in the ribs. From where he sits across the room Tony can hear the kid’s ribs snap and he digs his nails into the armrests of his chair, uncaring when the wood splinters under the pressure and bites into his skin. 

They hit him again, and Peter loses his breath. 

Again, and he’s spitting out blood. 

“STOP!” Tony begs, a deep primal need for the kid to be safe taking root in his chest. “God, please- please stop hurting him!” 

“T-Tony-”

Peter’s eyes are half lidded. Tony can see his broken face from where it rests against his shoulder, waiting for the next attack. Their gazes connect for a half second and Tony watches in despair as a tear falls from Peter’s eye, so fast he almost misses it. 

They keep hitting him, no matter how loudly or desperately he pleads with them not to. 

Tony thinks it’ll never end. 

Peter’s ankle breaks when they hit it with a crowbar. He gets a gash in his collarbone that Tony knows will need stitches. His hair is yanked by unwelcoming touches. 

Never once does Peter voice his discomfort, never once does he ask them to stop. Because if he does they’ll start hurting Tony, and he knows the kid well enough to know that’s not an option, no matter how deeply he hates it.

It’s not Peter’s first rodeo, he thinks morbidly, and shoves his nails into his palms until they bleed.

When their captors finally leave Peter is only half conscious. He’s sagging against the bonds holding him in place and breathing heavily through his mouth as if he’d just run a marathon. His breaths turn into a gut-wrenching sob and Tony has to bite down hard on his cheek in order to not do the same. 

“Peter?” 

The boy jumps as if he’s forgotten Tony is sitting there. Slowly, he lifts his head, blood dripping off his chin. There must be something in Tony’s face that disagrees with him because he squeezes his eyes closed and curls his fingers against the chair. “I told you- I told you not to look.”

“Peter-”

“You shouldn’t have looked,” he whispers. 

“ _Peter._ Look at me.”

He does, and Tony tries to keep his face neutral, even when the kid’s broken expression drives a spike through his chest. It’s been his own special torture, he thinks, having to sit here and watch as Peter gets hurt. 

And they know it. 

This is all his goddamn fault.

_Are you okay?_ He wants to ask, but he knows Peter will just laugh. 

“Tell me what hurts.” he says instead.

Peter grimaces. “What? You just saw-”

“Humour me.”

With a shuttered breath, Peter shrugs. “Ribs, mostly. And my ankle. Everything else they hit is numb.”

_Not good._

“Think you can rip through those ropes?”

Peter stills. His left eye has been gradually swelling ever since their captors left. Now Tony can hardly see the eye behind. “Isn’t that- isn’t that risky?” 

“It’s gone too far,” Tony says, throat tightening. It’s not goddamn fair that Peter has to endure all this pain to protect a secret, and curses the universe for it. 

He’s just a kid. 

_His_ kid. 

And he’s let him get hurt. Too many damn times. 

Peter blinks with his good eyes. “But they’ll figure it out-”

Tony shakes his head. “No buts. We’ll take care of it. It’s time to go.” 

Peter’s bottom lip wobbles dangerously but he nods all the same. Within ten seconds all his restraints are in tattered remains on the floor at his feet. 

He looks across at Tony as if the distance is miles. 

Then he stands. 

The flash of pain that streaks across his face doesn’t go unnoticed to Tony as he limps forward. He makes it two steps and stumbles, catching himself on his knees and grunting into his forearm to muffle the noise. 

_“Pete?_ Oh man- take your time. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Peter waves him off breathlessly, looking as if he’s blinking away stars. “Yep,” he croaks, “it’s definitely broken.”

It’s supposed to be humour, but it sits heavy in Tony’s chest. He holds his air in tight as Peter teeters back to his feet, barely allowing his broken limb to touch the ground before exchanging his weight back on his good one. By the time he reaches Tony’s side, he’s hardly lucid. 

“You with me?” Tony asks, taking in Peter’s rapidly paling face. 

The boy blinks but doesn’t respond, looking far in the distance at something Tony can’t see. Tony snaps his fingers, hoping it’s enough to rouse him back into reality. “Pete? C’mon kiddo. Almost there.”

Slowly the recognition returns. Peter shakes his head and blushes, the hue matching the copious amount of blood covering him. “S-sorry. Thought I was gonna pass out.” 

“Nope,” Tony says as Peter loosens the ropes holding him in place, “no passing out allowed.” 

“Yes sir.”

Freed, Tony stands and hoists one of Peter’s arms over his shoulder. As soon as he’s supported Peter seems to teeter back from reality, sagging dangerously against Tony’s side. Feeling his stomach drop, he nudges the kid, guilt biting at him when Peter groans in pain. 

“What did I just say?”

“No- no passin’ out.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“S’ry.” 

Tony gets them to the door and jiggles the handle. It twists and he thanks the heavens above. It lands them in a dark, empty hallway and Tony turns instinctively to the right. As they pass through, Tony whispers in Peter’s ear, trying to keep him conscious. 

“Almost there. Stay with me bud. Keep moving.”

“ _My leg_ ,” Peter whines. 

“Shh. I know kiddo, I know. We’re going to get you all patched up real soon. Just keep walking.” 

“T-Tony.” 

“I’m sorry Pete. We gotta keep going.”

“Someone- someone’s _coming_.” 

Tony freezes and Peter gasps at the abrupt stop. He searches wildly for a hiding spot but comes up short. Before his mind can work out a solution two of the men from earlier come out from behind a corner. They stop in disbelief when they see Tony, then yell out, turning their gait into a sprint. 

“Damn it.” 

Tony practically drags Peter in the opposite direction. The kid is dead weight. They’re nowhere near fast enough. They barely make it a couple steps before Tony is tackled from behind and they both end up stretched out on the floor. The harsh movement must be the last straw because Peter lets out a soft moan before growing completely limp, eyes closing. 

_“Stop!”_ Tony yells, his voice cracking under the pressure. “Don’t you dare even think of touching him-”

He’s punched in the face, forcing his body to the side. He spits out warm blood and wipes the residue off his chin, glaring up into their captor’s eyes. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he says. 

“Oh yeah? And _what the hell_ are you going to do about it?”

On the floor, Peter’s eyes squint open, distant and glassy. 

“Don’t look Pete,” Tony says, and then he explodes. 

In a matter of seconds, the two guards are unresponsive on the floor. Tony wipes his bloody knuckles off on his jeans and crawls over to Peter. He’s still awake but Tony sticks his fingers against the artery on his neck anyways. His heart beats assuredly against his skin and Tony can breathe easier. 

“That was badass,” Peter mumbles, opting for a weak smile. 

“Told you not to look.”

“Mmm,” Peter hums, “sounds familiar.”

“Oh shut up. Save your energy for healing, would you?”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Has anyone told you lately that you’re a mighty pain in my side?” 

“Learned from the best,” he slurs. 

Tony smiles. Together, they stumble to their feet. 

Always together. 

“You sure did, kiddo. You sure did.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Peter being protective of each other is l i t e r a l l y the hill I will die on lol. I hope you liked this one and that you're all have the amazing, fantastic days you deserve! :) <3
> 
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: Memory loss


	24. Memory loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter high fives a wall with his face

When Peter wakes up he’s half buried in broken brick and cement. 

It’s more surprising than it is uncomfortable, though he still winces at the weight. A sharp, debilitating pain blossoms behind his eyes as he tries to recollect the memory that brought him here. It feels as if someone is squeezing his brain and turning it into mush between his ears. 

_Wait- could that even happen?_

Concerned for the wellbeing of his brain, Peter fights a hand out of the rubble and reaches for the sharpest point of his pain. His fingertips barely brush against his temple when his vision whites out. 

He’s not sure how much time passes before he wakes up a second time. 

This time, he’s not alone. 

“Peter?”

He jumps, the sound loud and jarring. Stars spring up in his eyes and he feels his gut twist in nausea. “Wha-”

“Peter. I’m detecting a serious concussion. Immediate medical care is advised.”

Peter processes this. Or, well, he tries to. It’s a woman’s voice. Friendly. 

“ _What?_ Who-”

“I am Karen, Peter. Memory loss is not a good sign.”

Peter blinks. The small movement sends another sharp spike of pain through his head and for a moment he can’t breathe. He fights furiously to place the name. 

_Karen. Karen, Karen, Karen._

“Oh,” he mumbles after a while, smiling. “Karen! Suit lady!”

There’s a short pause. “Calling Tony Stark.”

Peter cries out as the phone dials and bites on his tongue to try and dull the ache as a new voice enters his ears. _Tony?_

“Pete? It’s late. Everything okay?”

It takes a minute for Peter to remember that he is, indeed, Peter. 

“Uh. What?”

“You called me kid. What’s going on?”

“Tony, Tony-”

Another pause. Peter drifts. Everything around him is dark and blurred. He wishes he could see the stars. “Did you- did you know I have a Karen?” he asks. 

“Hang on kiddo. I’m pulling up your stats on the suit.”

“ _Suit?_ ” he slurs, “like, like with a tie?”

“Peter-”

“I don’ know how t’ tie a tie.” 

“I’ll teach you,” Tony promises. His voice is soft but pinched. “Karen is showing that you took a pretty big hit to the head. How’re you feeling kiddo?”

Peter blinks. Something warm is dripping into his eye. It stings. 

“Peter? You still with me bud? I’m on my way over to you know, okay? Stick with me.”

“I’m sticky.” 

“You sure are. Now try and pay attention, alright? This is important. How’re you feeling?”

Peter considers this. Truthfully, terrible. His head feels like it’s being crushed under a ton of concrete. He can hardly see straight, can barely move from under the rubble. “My eye is wet,” he says finally.

“Your eye?”

“‘S wet,” Peter repeats. “Hurts.” 

There’s a measured breath of air. “Are you bleeding kiddo?”

“Bleedin’? I don’t- I don’t-” 

“It’s okay,” Tony interjects at his mounting panic. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Peter relaxes. His body feels weird and floaty, like he’s flying. 

He closes his eyes and the darkness feels better. 

_Peter._

_Peter?_

_Peter!_

The boy jumps, gasping when the movement upsets his careful equilibrium. He does see stars this time, though some distant part of him figures it’s not the natural kind. 

“Peter?” the voice asks again. It sounds weird, on the verge of yelling. 

“ _Wha-”_

“Oh thank God. You weren’t responding.”

Peter feels tears leak into his eyes. “What? Who-”

He gasps at the blinding pain, curling his fingers into the bricks. 

“It’s _Tony_ ,” the voice says, “we were just talking, Pete.” 

“Oh. T’ny?’ 

“Five minutes. Just stay awake, okay? _Please_ , please stay awake.”

“Awake,” Peter echoes.

“Keep talking.”

“Abou’ what?”

“Anything.” 

Peter thinks about this. “Star Wars is cool,” he decides. 

A huff of laughter. For a minute, it dulls the sharp edges of his pain. “Sure is, kiddo. What else?”

“MJ,” Peter says, her face drifting into his memory. “She’s pr-pretty.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“Yeah.”

Peter closes his eyes again, the memory of MJ being replaced by a sharp pain in his stomach. He clutches at it, but the grip is weak. He must make a sound because Tony’s voice reenters, sounding worried. “Peter? Talk to me bud.”

“Don’- don’ feel good.”

“Take deep breaths. I’m almost there.”

But it’s too much. Almost there isn’t _here_ , it isn’t now, and Peter curls over the best he can. Some distant part of him tells him to roll up the mask to his nose and as soon as he does, he pukes. 

It _hurts._

“Oh man,” Peter whimpers when he finishes, wanting nothing more than to punch himself into oblivion. Tony’s voice comes back and whatever he says drives a spike into Peter’s head. Desperate for it to stop, he pulls his mask off all the way, remembering at the same time that _hey, he’s Spider-Man_. It sticks to the cut on his head and he doesn’t even have the strength to cry out. Instead he goes boneless against the wreckage, tip toeing on the line between the waking and unconscious world. 

_Pass out_ , he pleads with himself. _Pass out. Pass out-_

Something heavy hits the roof beside him. He doesn’t open his eyes, but hears a familiar string of curse words and then there’s calloused hands on his cheeks. 

“Peter? You with me?”

“Mmm.” 

“That’s a nasty gash you got there.”

“Mm.”

“Do you remember how it happened?”

Peter frowns. Happened. Happened. What happened? 

“That’s okay bud. Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out later. We’ve gotta get you out of here. You up for flying?” 

Peter tries to clear his vision but it’s impossible. It’s like when he needed glasses before the spider bite and it scares him. 

“Blurry,” he manages to mumble.

Tony is working on lifting bricks and pieces of concrete off him, setting them down lightly to the side. “Blurry?” 

He nods. “No spider,” he slurs.

Tony doesn’t have a response. He works faster. 

Eventually he’s free. Peter takes a deep breath that gets stuck in his chest when it makes everything else flare with pain. He might sob or laugh, he’s not sure which, but regardless Tony is back in his field of vision, his eyes wide and panicked. 

“See a ghost?” Peter asks dimly, seriously. The skin on his face is wet. 

“No Pete. Just a concussed-to-all-hell-teenager.”

“Oh,” he says, “that doesn’t sound good.”

“I agree.”

Before Peter can formulate a response, he feels Tony’s arms, now metal, slip under his back and thighs. He’s lifted from his bed of debris and screams. 

Or, well, he tries to. Really it’s more of a whimper. 

In the end he’s high above the ground and collapsed in Tony’s grip. The world passes below them in a sickening blur and so he closes his eyes to keep from getting sick again. His head has a heartbeat. 

Is that normal? 

“Almost there.” Tony’s voice is mechanical now. It’s funny for some reason and Peter can’t help but laugh. It makes his head spin and he feels his neck loll against his hero’s arm. 

“You’re a robot,” Peter says. 

“Am not.”

“Are- are to.”

“God. This better not be permanent, kid.”

“Mr. Robot.” 

“Crazy Spider.”

“Ro-robot man.” 

They land somewhere and Peter winces against the bright lights. He’s laid somewhere soft, feels gentle hands on his face. Something stings in his arm and everything gets fuzzy around the edges. Well, _more_ fuzzy. 

“You’re going to be just fine,” the robot says from somewhere Peter can’t see. 

It feels like an invitation. He closes his eyes and feels deep relief when no one yells at him to open them again. 

He trusts the robot, he realizes. 

He always has. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this one :) <3 Thank you thank you for everything!!! I'm gonna cherish these last 4 days like no other lol. (And ohhh my lanta we hit 10k!! THANK YOU!!!!)
> 
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: car accident (excited for this one hehe)
> 
> See you tomorrow!! :)


	25. Car accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midtown School of Science and Technology take a field trip to Stark Tower.   
> Except- they don't quite make it there.

Peter has been dreading this day for weeks. 

He shouldn’t, really. Or at least that’s what Tony’s been telling him on repeat, sounding no different than a broken record skipping over the same sentiment to keep him quiet. And maybe that’s the only reason why Peter finds himself sitting on a cheap vinyl seat, squished between Ned and the window. The bus jumps against the road’s potholes and jostles Peter’s head when he tries to lay it on the seat in front of him. 

Next stop: Stark Tower. 

“This is so awesome,” Ned says animatedly beside him, his leg bouncing up and down in nervous energy. “Do you think they’ll show us the room Mr. Stark made you? I can’t believe I _finally_ get to meet him. I'm going to ask him, like, a million questions.”

“What? No! And he probably won’t even be there,” Peter grumbles, though he knows full-heartedly that it’ll be the opposite. 

Ned glares at him so Peter turns his head to look out the window. “Come on man,” Ned says, “aren’t you at least a little excited? Everyone will know you aren’t lying now-”

“I’m not excited,” Peter interjects. 

“But Iron Man-”

“Ned!”

Before either of them can continue the argument Peter feels his spider sense flare. Surprised, he stands, uncaring when his classmates stare. He feels Ned’s hand on the sleeve of his sweater, tugging, asking what’s wrong. 

The bus pulls forward through an intersection. 

Time slows. 

“STOP THE BUS!” Peter screams. 

But it isn’t quick enough. 

An earth-shattering force hits the bus on it’s side. The windows by Peter’s face shatter, throwing glass at his skin. He curves his body over Ned, hoping to at least protect his friend, and feels the bus bend inwards and hit him hard in the back.

Everyone screams, the terror only growing louder when the bus flips onto its side. 

Peter and Ned fall forward, the ground no longer beneath their feet. It’s a dizzying drop and Peter lands hard on his side, crunching glass and hitting his head on the ceiling. For a minute his vision whites out, only cleared when Ned shakes his shoulder. 

_“_ Peter? Peter-”

Blinking liquid out of his eyes, Peter assesses his hazy surroundings. Everyone is still screaming. Crying, too. Ned’s face blurs above him. 

“Peter can you hear me?” but Ned’s voice is distant, like he’s hearing it underwater. 

Then he smells it. 

Gasoline. 

“N-Ned-”

Peter struggles to sit, wincing and biting back a scream as his abdomen stretches painfully. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had broken a few ribs, or if he weren’t sporting some form of internal bleeding. 

Tony is going to kill him.

“Ned. We- we have to get everyone out.”

Peter looks around hazily, everything producing a double. His spidey sense still hums, warning him about what he already knows. 

The bus is going to blow. 

He struggles to stand, grasping onto Ned who has a cut in his eyebrow. Peter stares at it for a moment, transfixed and stomach dropping out. When clarity returns, he looks at Ned sharply. “Are you okay man? Can you walk?”

“Yeah-”

“Get out then,” Peter says, shoving him towards the exit. At the head of the bus, Mr. Harrington is helping kids out through the shattered windshield. “ _Go!_ ”

Ned listens and Peter spins, looking for who needs help. The emergency exit in the back is crushed, the distorted form of a semi truck just visible through the cracked glass. 

Oh man. Of _course_ they’d been hit by a semi. 

Peter crawls over the seat. Flash, who had been proud and almighty about attaining the back seat now lays crumbled against it. There’s blood on his face, his eyes impossibly wide. 

“P-Parker?” he squeaks, voice shaking. 

“Come on,” Peter says, holding out his hand. 

“My ankle’s broken.”

“I’ll help. Come on, we gotta hurry-”

Without further prompting Flash’s sweaty hand lands in his own. Pulling him up strains the fierce ache in Peter’s abdomen and he almost drops him back down. He forces away the stars in his vision and persists until Flash is leaning heavily against his side. 

“How did you know it was coming?” Flash asks breathlessly. “That we were going to get hit?”

“I didn’t.”

“You told them to stop the bus.”

“Flash?” Peter says, hanging onto the boy tighter when he stumbles, groaning. “Shut up.”

Luckily, he does, and Peter makes it to the front. Mr. Harrington is waiting for them at the windshield, his arms open and ready to help Flash down onto the pavement. Before his teacher can tell him to do the same, Peter stumbles back into the wreckage, the smell of gasoline growing stronger. 

“Peter!” he hears MJ shout. She’s outside the window, her hair messed wildly and her eyes blown wide. “What are you doing? Get out!”

It makes his heart tug painfully, but he can’t afford to lose time in answering her. 

The next student is unconscious. Amy, he thinks her name is. He picks her up, unable to keep in the cry of pain this time and carries her to the front. 

“Peter,” Mr. Harrington says, “you’re hurt. Come out. The police are almost here-”

But he just turns back again. 

And again. 

And again. 

His spider sense is _screaming_ at him now, but he can’t stop. There’s one more student. Peter hoists him onto his shoulders, knowing that he has only seconds and limps to freedom. 

He jumps out of the windshield, stumbling on broken glass and tasting blood in his mouth. “Get away from the bus!” he yells. “Get away from it!”

Everyone looks at him in awe, or maybe they just think he’s crazy. 

Regardless they listen, and not even five seconds later it explodes. 

Peter is shoved off his feet by the force of it, the student he’d been carrying rolling away from him. Peter skids against the pavement when he hits it, hearing a high-pitched whine between his ears. For a moment he’s too dazed to do anything but press his forehead into the hot asphalt, blood dribbling past his lips. It reminds him unhappily about Coney Island, right after the plane had hit the sand. 

Someone touches his shoulder, unsure. 

“-ter?”

It’s faraway. Peter turns over, fighting through the darkness in his vision. MJ is kneeling beside him, her knees bloody and her hands on either side of his face, supporting it. “Peter? Can you hear me? Oh man-”

He lists to the side. MJ catches him. He ends up leaning against her, and through the smell of fire and blood, he can still identify her perfume. 

A small comfort, he thinks. 

“Peter!” Mr. Harrington falls beside them, Ned not far behind. In the distance, beyond the ringing in his ears, he can hear sirens. “Are you okay? These field trips are _cursed!_ ”

He tries to nod, forcing a small smile, and wipes blood off his chin with his sleeve.

His teacher is breathless, glasses skewed. He looks at Peter in fractured awe. “You- you saved everyone-”

Peter closes his eyes to keep his relieved tears from falling. “Everyone- everyone’s okay?” He feels Ned’s hands in his hair, and MJ’s too. A familiar sound of metal hitting the ground rings past his fading awareness, and he thinks he hears Tony’s voice.

“It’s Iron Man!” 

“Oh my gosh!” 

“Why does he look so worried?”

“ _Parker?”_

Though his eyes are closed, Peter knows Tony is with him. The pain crescents into something blinding, something unreturnable, and Peter let’s everything go. 

\---

“Of _course_ their bus crashed,” Tony mutters under his breath, “stupid freaking Parker luck-”

He’s flying over the city, his thrusters fully engaged. Happy had flown into his office, frantic and holding a phone to his ear. He had rambled about a semi running through an intersection, of how the bus had been its victim. 

The bus with _his_ kid in it. 

Guess there wouldn’t be a field trip after all. 

Unless the hospital counts that is. 

It takes him seven torturous minutes to reach the location of the crash. From above the collision looks fatal and his chest constricts down to the size of a pinhole. The yellow metal of the bus is in flames, dented where the mouth of the semi had touched it, laying on its side, and skidded into three lanes of traffic. 

There are no paramedics on the scene yet, he notices, and yet when he lands, everyone looks safe. A little rough around the edges, sure, but there’s no damn funeral bells.

“It’s Iron Man!” 

“Oh my gosh!” 

Tony spins, looking frantically for his gangly, brown haired, science pun t-shirt kid. 

“Why does he look so worried?”

Finally, he sees him. 

“ _Parker?”_

Tony flies the short distance separating them, landing gracelessly beside Ned, MJ, and the kid’s teacher. Peter is slumped into MJ’s side, his face streaked with blood, eyes closed. It freezes him in his tracks. He forgets how to breathe. 

As if noticing his distress, MJ offers a weak smile. “He’s okay.”

“He- he saved everyone,” the teacher stammers, “pulled them all out of the bus. Almost like he knew it was going to explode-”

Despite the remains of his crippling fear, Tony feels a rush of fondness. “Course he did.”

“His back got hit pretty hard,” Ned says beside him, pale and shaking. “Head, too. I don’t know what else.”

Tony nods, crouching beside the team and trying not to notice how the rest of the kid’s crowd around them. To gawk, he supposes, and doesn’t waste the time to tell them to scram. 

Gauntlets retracting so his hands are bare, Tony pats lightly against Peter’s cheeks. “Kiddo?” he prompts, voice light despite the thick knot in his throat. “You with us?” 

Peter doesn’t flinch, head bobbing further.

More urgently, Tony shakes him again, using his free hand to smudge a fresh trickle of blood off the kid’s face. “Peter. _Peter_ Wake up. It’s not cool to sleep in school, kid.”

He hears murmurs through the crowd as Peter’s brown eyes squint open. He looks deliriously up at Tony then spreads his lips into a soul-crushing smile. “Hey- hey Tony.”

“You didn’t want to go on this field trip that bad, huh bud? Just had to go and get yourself in a car accident.”

“Mmm,” Peter hums, smile persisting even when his eyes droop. “S’ry.”

“Never be sorry. God. You did good, kid.”

“H’rts.”

“I know. We’ll get you fixed up.” 

With help from MJ, Peter is maneuvered carefully into his arms. When he stands, Peter lets out a soft exhale of air, looking as if he’s spent the past hour spinning in circles. “Woah,” he whispers. 

“Hang tight.” 

As he prepares to blast into the air, Peter’s classmates circle them. They clap their hands and cheer. They’re faces are streaked with blood, soot, and tears. “Peter!” they yell together. “Peter!” 

Hanging onto consciousness by his fingertips, Peter offers a weak smile, lifting up his hand in a half-salute. They shout “thank yous” and “get betters” that ring through the air long after Tony launches into the sky. 

Peter shifts against his chest, closing his eyes. 

“Hate field trips,” he murmurs. 

“And _I_ hate it when you get hit by semi trucks.”

“One time-” 

“That’s too many times, Parker.” 

“Everyone safe?”

Tony stills, allowing himself to smile. Something like pride blooms behind his sternum. It feels good, he thinks. 

“Everyone’s safe,” he affirms, “thanks to you.”

“Was nothin’,” Peter slurs, wincing at something Tony can’t source. “All in a day’s work.”

“Go to sleep, kid. You’re in pain.”

“Think I’ll get extra credit for this?” the kid asks, relaxing further in Tony’s hold.

“I’ll make sure you do,” Tony promises. 

And just as the Tower crests over the skyline, Peter’s head dips, and he lets out an honest to God snore. 

_This kid will be the death of me,_ he thinks. 

Just not today. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeee okay okay I hope you enjoyed this one!! It was a little on the longer side and I like how it turned out :) Hooray to Mr. Harrington for not losing another kid to a field trip hahaha. His character honestly kills me. 
> 
> Three more days asaljdkslasdkljd SEND HELP 
> 
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: Recovery


	26. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing takes time.   
> And that's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw the title and thought "oh yay finally a fluffy one for once".... I'm sorry to disappoint   
> ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN!!!! :D

It’s been twelve days. 

Twelveexcruciatingdays. 

After all this time, Tony’s still not sure of much. He doesn’t know who took them, or where they are. All he knows is that they want answers to questions he can’t give and that Peter is suffering for it. 

They bring the kid back three hours after they take him. Two armed guards drag Peter’s limp form in by the armpits and Tony screams and jerks himself against the chains pinning him to the wall in his desperation to reach him. Through his fear and pain, however, he feels a slight release in his chest. An ease, a peace, because again, for today, Peter is still alive. 

“Have you changed your mind?” one of the guards asks. His voice is deep and mechanical, his identity concealed by a thick metal mask. 

And it kills him. He’s seconds from breaking. 

He wants it to be over. 

For Peter to be safe. 

But if he tells them what they want to know, thousands of people will die. 

“No.” It’s nearly impossible to verbalize. 

“Very well.” 

And they leave. 

Peter is still where he lays on the floor, face down and bleeding. Tony bites back a sob as he takes in the kid’s worsening state. He’s thinner than he had been, his metabolism no match for the scarcity of their food and covered from head to toe in lacerations. There’s thick bruising on his wrists and ankles, on his neck. Electric burns on his arms and dozens of injuries that Tony can’t see through the kid’s clothes but knows nonetheless that are there. 

“P-Peter. Bud. Can you hear me?”

His fearful voice carries, splinters, and is met with silence. He pulls harder against the chains holding him in place, wanting nothing more than to reach Peter’s side. “ _Peter._ Wake up kiddo. Let me know that you’re okay.”

Peter shifts, groans, _sobs._ It’s hard to see through the darkness of their cell but when Peter’s eyes open they’re distant and confused, and Tony knows that they drugged him again. 

_To keep the brat docile_ , they had told him on the first day after Peter had fought against them. _He’ll learn his lesson soon enough._

“That’s- that’s it bud. Good. Come back to me.”

Peter sucks in a breath, tries to move and struggles. Every inch brings a fresh wave of pain. Tony watches him with a broken heart, turning his hands into fists against their restraints. “C’mere bud.” 

Finally, Peter looks up at him. It takes him nearly thirty seconds to cement the eye contact and ten more to recognize who Tony is. When it clicks the boy gives him a broken half smile, shoulders relaxing. “T’ny.”

“You gotta come to me kiddo. I can’t come to you, okay?”

“M’kay.” The boy crawls forward, whimpering low in his throat but eventually making it to Tony’s side. With the little slack the chains provide Tony is able to pull Peter against his body, hugging his frail frame against his chest. If it hurts, Peter doesn’t say, and opts to relax more fully against Tony’s side. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers into Peter’s hair. The kid mumbles something unintelligible in response, eyes closing as the drugs persist in his system. Tony shudders against the hot flush of a fever on the kid’s skin, of the ribs he can feel through his shirt. 

He’s losing him. 

They’re running out of time. 

It’s a desperate, hopeless feeling. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice cracking. 

Then, he prays. 

\----

Two days later and Tony sees sunlight. He jerks awake at loud, jarring noise. There’s a gaping hole in their prison, spilling in fresh air and blue sky. Tony winces at the bright light, feeling dizzy at the sudden development. He curls around Peter who is once again tucked into his chest, shivering and mumbling in his sleep in an attempt to shield him from the dust and debris. 

At the mouth of the hole appears Rhodey and Steve. 

He hopes he isn’t dreaming. 

They run towards him, mouthing things he can’t understand. 

Peter doesn’t stir. 

“Help him,” he murmurs. 

Then he falls back into darkness.

\----

Tony wakes up confused and alone, hooked up to beeping machines and blinded by sterile white walls. 

He tries to sit up, is stopped by Rhodey, searches the man’s eyes and fails to curb his mounting panic. 

_“Where’s Peter? Where is- Where is he?”_

They clasp hands. Rhodey tells him that Peter is fine, that he’s in surgery, that they’ll bring him to Tony as soon as they're finished. 

It’s not enough. Tony needs to see him _now._

He doesn’t stop fighting until something cool enters his bloodstream and he falls back against the pillows, the room darkening at its edges. 

Rhodey never lets go. 

\----

The next time awareness comes back to him, the first thing Tony sees is Peter. 

_Alive, safe, Peter._

The kid is lying on a bed identical to his own across the room. He’s small and pale against the sheets, wrapped in casts and bandages and monitored by every machine you could think of. His eyes are closed but his chest is rising and falling in a comforting, even pattern. 

“Peter?”

Of course, Peter remains asleep. It brings back dark memories of their time in captivity and Tony is suddenly overcome with the need to be by the boy’s side, to make sure he’s really okay. That this isn’t just all in his head. 

Ignoring the way his own machines beep in protest, Tony clumsily detaches himself from them, and then, from his bed all together. His legs are weak but support him, his goal overpowering his body’s weakness. He reaches the edge of Peter’s bed in a couple steps and collapses against it, shaky and weak. 

“Peter?”

The monitors pick up, and seconds later, dark brown eyes are blinking up at him. “Tony?” he slurs. 

“Oh thank god.”

Before he can think it through, he’s hugging the kid. Peter completes the embrace, his limbs weak but sure. 

They’re both crying. 

“You’re okay,” Tony says, perhaps more for his own reassurance, and he hears Peter laugh wetly in his ear. 

“You are too.”

He isn’t sure how long they stay like that. Only that after a while, Peter sags against Tony’s side. Noticing, Tony shifts himself out of their hug. “Move over,” he instructs. 

Slowly, Peter does, and Tony fits himself in the available space. Peter latches onto him. “I was scared we’d never get out of there,” he whispers, so faintly that Tony barely catches it. 

“We did though,” Tony tries to comfort. “Rhodey and Steve saved the day.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

Tony is silent, his head spinning. Eventually he manages to choke out, “I’m so sorry, Pete. This is all my fault.”

This gives Peter more strength. He lifts himself up on his elbow, then looks dizzy for doing so. “What?” he says. “No it’s not-”

“I wouldn’t tell them what they wanted.”

“Obviously. We know what would’ve happened if you did.”

“You got hurt because of it.”

“You got hurt too.”

Tony sighs and closes his eyes when they sting. He feels Peter collapse back against the mattress beside him. 

“We’re out,” Peter continues sleepily. “That’s all that matters.” 

And Tony is too weak to argue. 

\----

Three days later and Tony is free to roam as he pleases, his injuries no longer keeping him bedridden. Despite the freedom he doesn’t leave their room, staying in a chair beside Peter’s bed. The kid sleeps, mostly. He mumbles unconsciously and flinches at loud noises. He sweats and cries. 

And Tony is there for it all. 

\----

“I’m so bored,” Peter grumbles, arms crossed and pouting. “I hate staying in bed all day.”

“Remember when you almost died?” Tony says. 

Peter sighs, rolling his head back against his pillow. He looks considerably better now, with colour in his cheeks and a majority of his minor wounds closed up. But he still has a cast on his leg, his arm in a sling, and twenty precarious stitches in his side. 

“You’ll be out of bed soon enough,” Tony promises. 

“Whatever you say.” 

\----

Ned and MJ visit. They play video games and board games and don’t leave until it’s dark. When they do, Tony returns. Peter is still against the bed, looking more alone than Tony has ever seen him. 

“Are you okay?”

Peter jumps and swipes at his face. “Oh- Tony. Sorry. Yeah. Yeah I’m okay.”

And Tony is stupid enough to believe him. 

\----

“ _Help!”_

Tony jackknifes awake, heart thundering in his chest. He scrambles in darkness for a moment before flicking on the lamp, finding Peter twisted up in his sheets, kicking and clawing and fighting. 

“Damn it.”

He drops to his knees beside the bed, gently nudging the boy into wakefulness. It doesn’t take long before Peter’s eyes fly open, wide and deep with fear. He continues to fight and doesn’t stop until Tony forces his face to look at him. 

“T-Tony?” 

And all he can do it nod, his throat too tight to form words. 

Peter stares at him like he’s far away. He chokes on his next breath. 

“Peter?”

Peter shudders and raises a hand to clutch at his throat. 

“What’s wrong buddy?”

But he already knows. Has seen it in himself for years. 

“ _Can’t breathe,”_ Peter gasps. 

Tony sits on the edge of Peter’s bed and rubs his back, barely able to keep his own panic at bay. He holds Peter’s hand over his chest and tells him to concentrate on the beats. Teaches him how to breathe. 

And he does. 

In reality that attack only lasts for a couple of minutes, but it seems to stretch like hours. When the worst of it passes Peter falls back into the pillows, exhausted, eyes fluttering. “Thanks,” he says. Then, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize Pete. I should be the one saying sorry-”

“No,” Peter says. He pats Tony’s leg. “No sorrys. For either of us.” 

And Tony would like to think it’s possible. 

He stays awake long after Peter drifts off again. 

\----

Another two days, and Peter is discharged from medbay. He’s excited but lacking his usual spark. He spends the day with his friends and comes back exhausted. He sleeps on the coach and wakes up disoriented. They eat dinner, though Peter barely touches his food, and they spend the rest of the night in the lab. 

“How was your first day as a free man?” Tony asks. 

“Good.”

“What’d you do?”

“Went to the arcade with Ned and MJ.”

“Sounds nice.” 

“Yeah. Yeah it was.” 

The tinker in relative silence. He notices Peter grab at his arm periodically, as if to stop an ache. 

“How’re you feeling?”

_“Fine_.”

“Well, I don’t really believe that, so how about telling me the truth?” 

Peter throws down his tools. They clang against the table and Peter flinches back from the sound. Tony stands, worried, and Peter shrinks into himself. 

“Peter-”

“Stop. Just stop, okay? I’m fine.”

He’s crying. 

Tony takes one cautious step forward, then two. When Peter doesn’t say anything he closes the distance in its completion and wraps his arms around the boy’s shaking shoulders. 

“Talk to me,” he says. 

Peter sniffles, doesn’t push him away. “I’m sore and achy. I can’t sleep. I never feel like eating. I’m scared all the time-” he trails off, voice quieting. “I’m just so scared.” 

He’s not sure if there’s words somewhere out in the universe that Peter needs to hear. If there are, it’s impossible to know them. He tightens the hug and rests his chin on the top of Peter’s head. “It’s okay to be scared. You’re allowed to be. You know that right?”

“I’m supposed to be strong. A _superhero.”_

“You are. You are, Peter.” 

“But-”

“No buts,” Tony interjects. “Listen close, okay? Cause I don’t like to get all mushy gushy very often. You, Peter Parker, are a hero through and through. You’re the bravest, smartest, kindest kid I’ve ever met. You’ve gone through some tough stuff in your life. And you’ve always come out the otherside. This is no different, even if it feels like it right now. Okay?”

Peter clutches onto his arm like a lifeline. 

“It’s okay to be scared, Pete. It means you're human like the rest of us.” 

Peter nods vigorously against him. “Th-thank you.”

“I’m always here. Whatever you need.” 

Forever and always.

\----

It’s been a month and Peter is nearly back to his old self. He’s patrolling again, he finishes dinner and smiles and laughs when they clean up afterwards. Nightmares become less frequent. He aces his tests. 

Tony reflects on this as he looks at the kid across the room. He’s scribbling away equations in a coil-bound notebook, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. A soft smile turns his mouth up, the warmth of pride leaking through his chest. 

“Hey Pete?”

Peter looks up, his pencil drooping in his grip. “Yeah Tony?”

_Don’t be like your father. Break the cycle._

“I’m proud of you, kid. Just wanted you to know that.”

Peter blushes. He averts his gaze, mouth open in lost words. “Oh. Uh, thanks Tony.”

“I mean it. You’ve come a long way.”

When Peter reconnects their eyes, Tony feels the depth of the boy’s understanding. He had seen it in the cell, in their shared hospital room. 

“Thanks,” Peter repeats, and this time, he sounds sure. He smiles. It’s wide, genuine, reflecting his youth. 

It looks like healing. 

It _is_ healing. 

“Now get back to work.”

“Aye aye.”

Peter writes down more equations, then pauses. “Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you too.”

The sentiment freezes the air in his chest. He hardly knows how to compartmentalize the emotion. It processes slow as molasses. Eventually, he matches Peter’s smile. “Thanks kiddo.” 

Yep, it’s healing. 

And they’re family, through and through. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my longest one yet??????   
> I hope you liked this one!! It honestly had a mind of its own haha I was just along for the ride. T-minus TWO FREAKING DAYS ahhhhhh. If you've survived the journey for this long with me, here's a gold star hahaha 🌟
> 
> As always, thank you for everything <3 You guys keep me smiling and thriving :) 
> 
> Tumblr: @polaroid15  
> Tomorrow: "I wish I had never given you a chance" (more fluffy I prooooooooomise!)


	27. "I wish I had never given you a chance"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a relaxing weekend at the cabin, Peter offers to help Tony with some chores.  
> When things go awry (as they often do), they learn that under no circumstance should Peter ever pursue a career in carpentry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first fic with Morgan!!! I LOVE HER ahhh.   
> Hope you enjoy this one- the second last :'( <3

Peter enters the room with a yawn, throwing his arms back in a wide stretch. As if knowing it’ll catch him off guard Morgan launches herself at him, wrapping her tiny arms around his middle. His breath gusts out of his lungs in surprise but he recovers quickly, smiling and reaching down to ruffle her hair. “Well good morning to you too.”

“Peter!” Morgan lets go of the hug and proceeds to dance around him. “Let’s play!”

Tony smirks from his position on the couch, a tablet balanced on his knee. Him and Peter share a knowing look before Peter nods enthusiastically and is dragged off. 

Later, they race back into the room, Morgan curled around Peter in a piggy back ride. He deposits her on the couch and she giggles, rolling onto her side and latching onto Tony. 

“Looks like you two are having fun,” he observes. 

“Yes!” Morgan says, breathless from their game. “Lots of fun.”

“Lots and lots of fun,” Peter repeats, giving Morgan a wink while she laughs. He turns to Tony. “What’re you working on?”

“Trying to find someone to fix our roof, actually.”

Peter draws his eyebrows together. “What’s wrong with your roof?” 

“The wind storm last week took off a bunch of the shingles. It’s not really a big deal but Pepper keeps pushing for me to call someone. Something about not wanting a leak when it rains, yadda yadda.”

“Mom knows best,” Morgan cuts in. 

Peter laughs in agreement. “Well I can fix it for you,” he says. 

Tony raises his eyebrows behind his glasses before taking them off all together. “You’re telling me that you know how to put shingles back on a roof?”

The boy shrugs, his sheepish grin widening. “How hard can it be? Do you still have the shingles that blew off?”

“Yes.”

“Great! So all I need is a- a,” Peter grapples for the word, pulling his finger on an imaginary trigger in the air, “you know.”

“A nail gun?”

“Yeah! One of those.”

Tony considers it. It would be a hassle to have someone drive all the way out to the cabin to fix it, and he’s not getting any younger himself. “Are you sure? It’s almost a hundred degrees outside.”

“So?” Peter challenges, shrugging. “I’ve done worse in spandex.”

“That’s...true.”

“So do we have a deal?” Peter asks, thrusting out his hand as if it’s a formal agreement. 

Rolling his eyes, Tony humours him. “Fine. I’ll go get the nail gun.”

\----

The sun is blazing down on them when they make it outside and Tony uses his hand as a shield to watch Peter scale the side of the house with the last load of shingles. Advantages of super sticky powers: no ladders necessary. “Remember what I told you about nail gun safety!” he calls up after him. 

“Stop being a worry wart!” Peter yells back. 

Fair enough. 

Tony steps back inside the house, relishing in the air conditioning and wiping his forehead on his sleeve. He doesn’t make it two steps before Morgan latches onto him, her small fingers covering his. “Play with me?” she asks. 

Truthfully he has a mountain of work to do. But he’s never been one to be able to resist either of his kids requests, especially when they used their puppy dog eyes. It’s his greatest weakness and they know it. “Alright,” he concedes, “but only for a few minutes okay?”

“Deal!” 

\----

A few minutes turns into a few hours. Tony doesn’t realize until his watch beeps at him, pulling him out of a memorizing episode of Paw Patrol while they scribble with crayons in a princess coloring book. 

“Holy- it’s almost two!” 

Morgan doesn’t seem to care and continues drawing. “So?”

His mind is working too frantically to explain so he just stands, setting his coloring supplies off to the side. “Stay here, okay? Dad’s just gonna check on Peter.”

“Okay,” Morgan replies happily, picking up a blue crayon. 

Heart in his throat, Tony practically runs to the back door. He skips the three steps to the grass and glares up at the roof. If possible, it feels even hotter out, and the nagging worry in his stomach triples. “Peter!” he calls up. “Peter? Are you still up there?” 

There’s a long, sinking silence. Tony is two seconds away from grabbing his suit to blast up there himself before Peter’s head pokes out over the edge. 

“Oh no Pete-”

“Mr. Stark!” the boy slurs, giving a sluggish wave from his perch. His face is beet red, his eyes unfocused. “Almost- almost done.”

Tony does everything within his power to stay calm. “No! Nope. You’re done, kiddo. You hear me? Time to go inside.”

“Wha- what? There’s only a- a couple more.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony argues, “you can barely string together sentences. Come down!” 

Peter considers it as his eyes grow foggier. “Down?” he asks. 

“Yes! Come down! You’re overheating up there!”

“Down,” Peter confirms. 

Then he does something really stupid. 

By the time Tony realizes where Peter’s boiling mind is taking him the kid has already rolled himself over the lip of the roof. He’s much too far to do anything but watch in horror as Peter plummets through the air and hits the grass with a loud _oof._

“Peter Benjamin Parker!” Tony sprints towards the fallen boy, expecting blood and broken bones but instead hears _laughing_. He falls to the ground, the grass staining his knees and grabs Peter’s head with both hands. His skin is hot and sweaty to the touch. _Too_ hot. Peter blinks up at him lazily, continuing to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” Tony demands breathlessly. 

Peter raises his finger, pointing up towards the sun. “I just- I just fell off the roof.”

“Oh lordy. You’re out of your mind.”

“I fell,” Peter repeats, then wheezes like it’s the funniest thing in the world. 

“We gotta get you cooled down pronto.”

“I’m- I’m _already cool_.”

“You’re killing me here, kid. Not that kind of cool.” 

Peter allows himself to be hoisted to his feet and sways dramatically once he’s there. His laughing tapers off as his face turns green and he clutches tightly onto Tony’s sleeve. 

“Kid?” he prompts hesitantly. “You okay?”

The answer must be _no_ , because Peter lunges away from him and spews out his last meal. Tony moans, rubs the kid’s back, and helps steady him when he finishes. “You done?”

Slowly, Peter nods.

“Alright kiddie. Let’s go run you a bath. How does that sound? Bring down that temperature of yours.”

“Mmm. Nice.”

Tony hoists Peter into his side and by some miracle manages to maneuver him into the house. Morgan doesn’t look up when they enter and Tony sends a silent prayer of thanks to the universe. They stumble to the bathroom and Tony sets Peter down on the toilet, only moving on to turn on the tub when he’s sure Peter won’t topple over.

“Feel weird,” Peter says. 

“That’s because you baked in the sun like a goddamn potato. Why’d you stay out there that long?” 

Peter swallows, his red face still tinged with green. Then, he shrugs, looking guilty. “Thought I could do it. Harder than it looks.”

“Kid-”

“I should’ve been able to- to do it.”

“I wish I had never given you a chance in the first place,” Tony counters, but it just makes Peter look more miserable so he sets a comforting hand on the kid’s shoulder. “I mean don’t get me wrong kiddo. You did great. Your self preservation skills just suck.”

Peter perks up a little. “Get that from you.”

“That’s not exactly a compliment.”

“Oh. It’s not?”

“Yeah not so much.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Peter’s mouth splits into a smile and Tony feels his heart do a backflip. _God_ , he loves this idiot child. 

“The rational thoughts will come back when we get you cooled down,” Tony promises, a smile of his own tugging at his lips. 

“Okay. Then I can finish the- the roof?”

“Nope. Not in a million years. Sorry to break it to you kid, but carpentry isn’t really your calling.” 

And for once, Peter agrees with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One.  
> More.  
> Ahhhhhhhhhh. 
> 
> I hope you liked this one and that it lived up to the promise of more fluff! Tomorrow's will be... well... you know me well enough by now haha. Thank you so so much for everything. I was literally tearing up so much yesterday reading all your supportive comments. I WAS OVERWHELMED WITH LOVE IDK WHAT I DID TO DESERVE YOU ALL but gosh am I grateful :) <3
> 
> See you tomorrow for the grand finale "You have to let me go" <333  
> Tumblr: @polaroid15


	28. "You have to let me go"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is no stranger to mourning.  
> He'll do anything to keep his family safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. My little love note/ramble will be at the end of this chapter, but I just wanted to say before you read this- thank you. So much. Sincerely. This has been quite the adventure. But like all adventures, they have their end.  
> I hope you like this one.

Peter lands messily on the pavement, pain shooting spikes up his ankles and his heart beating a million miles a minute. Choosing to ignore the discomfort, he runs the rest of the way to where Rhodey, Natasha, and Steve are standing in a tense semi circle in front of an old warehouse. 

He skids up beside them, barely breathing. “I- I came- agh. I came as soon as I heard.”

Steve places a strong hand on his shoulder to steady him and Peter can’t help but lean into the touch. They all stop what they’re doing to look at him and their eyes tell Peter enough for his stomach to plummet down to his toes. 

Pity, guilt. 

Fear. 

“Where’s Tony?” he asks, his voice sounding far away to his own ears. 

None of them answer, averting their eyes to the ground. 

“ _Guys._ Where is he?” 

Rhodey looks torn. He looks from the ground to the warehouse, his mouth hanging open in indecision. “He’s in there. He’s okay.”

“For now,” Natasha says. 

Peter nods, though his anxiety doesn’t lessen any. “Okay. Why haven’t you gotten him out yet? What’s the plan?”

He looks to Rhodey for his answer but the hero merely bites his lip. Sighing, Natasha interjects for him. “Tony’s cuffed to one of the center support columns. There’s a bomb strapped to the column beside him. The perimeter is rigged so that if crossed, the detonation time will shrink dramatically. It might even cause the bomb to go off immediately.”

Mouth dry, Peter tries his best to keep his breathing even. “How much time do we have?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Oh God,” Peter whispers. Steve’s hand on him tightens as he sways. “So what- what’s the plan?”

“Still working on it,” Rhodey says, his confidence slowly returning. “We’re trying to see if we can disarm the bomb from here. It’s too dangerous to trigger it by trying to cross the perimeter and grab him before it goes off.” 

“But-”

“Don’t worry Peter. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

He nods shakily, glancing over to the warehouse. _So close_ , he thinks with a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“You should call him,” Steve says. “He still has his com connected.” 

“Right. Okay.” 

Released, Peter steps away from the small group of heroes as they work furiously with tech Peter has never seen before. Despite their words, Peter can see how worried they are in their tight stances and clenched knuckles. It rips a hole through him. “Karen. Call Tony please.”

“Of course. Calling Tony Stark.” 

For a moment Peter is afraid he isn’t going to answer. On the last ring, however, it connects. Tony’s strained voice replaces his anxiety with temporary relief. “Peter?”

“Tony,” he gasps, knees weak. “I- I just got here. Are you okay?”

A short silence. “You’re here?”

“Yeah. Everyone close enough got the distress signal. I came as soon as I could but I was in English. Mrs. Fletcher doesn’t usually let kids leave in the middle of class but you know me. I found a way.” 

Tony doesn’t laugh like Peter had hoped he would. The weight in his stomach triples. Instead, when he speaks, his mentor’s voice shakes. “You- you really shouldn’t be here, kid.”

“You’re in trouble. _Of course_ I’m here. I’m always here.”

“It’s not looking- _Christ._ It’s not looking good Pete.”

Everything freezes. His chest stills for one breath, two. The ground seems to drop out underneath his feet. “What do you mean?” 

“ _You know what I mean_.”

No. No, he refuses to believe it. “How much time is left?”

“Just under six minutes.”

“Oh man.” Peter glances over to the Avengers. “Uh, guys?” he calls. “How’s it looking?”

Rhodey’s pinched expression tells him enough. 

He can’t _breathe._

“Pete?” Tony’s voice filters back in, his tone warmer. “It’s okay bud. Just breathe. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Peter forces air into his lungs, because this isn’t about him. This is about Tony. “We’re going to get you out,” he promises. 

He can imagine Tony wincing, and it brings tears into his eyes. 

“Kid?” Tony’s voice is soft in a way he’s never heard it before. 

“Yeah?”

“I just- I’m really proud of you, alright? I want you to know that.”

“Tony stop-”

“No,” he interupts. “I need this Pete. So zip it while the adult talks.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m so proud of you. Getting- getting to know you has been one of the greatest privileges I’ve had in my damn screwed up life. I wouldn’t trade it in for anything.”

His heart beats ferociously against his ribs, warranting a physical pain. He can hear it in his ears. 

“Stop saying goodbye,” Peter pleads. 

“You’re a good kid, Pete. And you know I don’t go around saying this kind of stuff lightly so you sure as hell better remember it. You’re ten times the hero I ever was and I know- I know that the world is in safe hands.” 

“But what about me?” Peter gasps out, eyes trained on the warehouse as the world spins. He knows it’s selfish. _God he knows it’s selfish._ “What about me, Tony?” 

“Three minutes!” Natasha calls out, her voice cracking. 

Silence. 

“Tony!” 

“Don’t blame yourself for this, okay? Don’t you dare. You don’t deserve this kiddo. I know this is unfair. You- you deserve to be happy.”

“ _Tony-_ ” 

“I love you Peter,” he says. 

And then the line goes dead. 

Peter’s insides vaporize. “Karen,” he says numbly, “call him back.”

It doesn’t even ring. “I’m sorry Peter. The call has been declined.”

“Damn it!” he screams while turning hurriedly back to the group. They’re pale. Rhodey’s hands are shaking. “We have to get him out _right now!”_

“Nothing’s working,” Natasha stammers, her fingers flying over her keyboard. 

“Something has to work! Make it work! It always works!”

“We’re trying the best we can!”

On the screen, he sees the detonation time at 2:11. 

He’s not losing Tony. 

He can’t survive another loss. 

He _can’t._

The world dissolves down to a single thought. 

Then he’s sprinting. 

Sprinting with all his might towards the warehouse. The other three scream out his name, ordering him to stop but he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t dare. He pushes onward, nearly stumbling against the liquid panic coursing through every vein. By some miracle he stays on both feet. 

He launches himself right through the front door, a loud beep signalling the perimeter breach. Rhodey’s voice enters his ears then, forced through. “You triggered the bomb to fall down to a minute. You have 60 seconds to get him out of there.”

It has to be enough. 

Tony isn’t hard to find. He’s in the center of the warehouse, chained around his torso. Peter is at his side in lightning speed, wrapping his hands around the restraints and straining with all his might. At first they don’t budge. 

_No, no. He has to be strong enough._

“Peter-” Tony gasps. He’s _livid_. Shaking like an addict on withdrawal. “What the hell are you doing here? The bomb-”

“We still have time,” Peter pants, blinking tears out of his eyes. 

“Peter!” Everything they’ve been through together, good and bad, bleeds into Tony’s voice. It shakes under the weight. “You have to let me go bud. This whole place is going to explode-”

“ _No._ ”

“I’m not letting you die for me. I’m not _losing_ you.”

“And _I’m_ _not losing_ _you!_ I’ll get you out. I’m not giving up.”

The electronic beep of the timer is constant, merciless. Tony jerks against the chains, his eyes wide and blown with panic. _35 seconds. 34. 33._ Peter can tell his mentor is trying to connect with him, trying to use these last seconds to make him fold. To sacrifice his own life for Peter’s safety. 

But Peter can’t. 

He won’t. 

“ _You have to let me go,_ ” Tony whispers. 

Peter sobs. It’s dry and panicked and desperate.A prayer. Something deep and foreign clicks inside his chest and in the next second, the chains snap and fall away. Tony slumps forward in surprise, catching himself on his elbows. Peter wastes no time in pulling him up to his feet, too scared to count it as a victory. 

“We’re in this together,” Peter hisses, unable to believe that in what could very well be their final moments, he’s angry. 

At Tony, at himself. At the world. 

“Fifteen seconds,” Rhodey says in his ears. 

The world narrows to an impossible size. He’s aware of every beat of his heart. Of every breath. Him and Tony race for the exit, the daylight beyond its doors acting as a promise. For a moment Peter thinks they’re going to make it, that everything will be fine. 

Then they cross the perimeter line. 

His spider sense flares right before the bomb detonates. He barely has time to realize that _obviously_ the failsafe would work both ways, but it’s too late to correct the mistake. 

There’s a deafening explosion. The ground shakes violently and Peter is reminded horribly of the warehouse. Searing heat reaches his back and he uses his lost conscious thought to tackle Tony to the ground. 

He isn’t awake long enough to see if he was able to save him. 

\----

He wakes up in the ambulance. Everything blurs as if it’s underwater. 

There’s hands on his arms, on his face, holding him down. The pain is all-consuming, tearing him apart limb by limb. 

Something pressed over his mouth makes it difficult to speak. He coughs in his fight for air and it feels like his body rips in half. 

_“He’s waking up!”_ someone yells frantically. 

“T-T-”

The voice must have belonged to Steve because his face appears above him in a messy streak. Through the delirium Peter can still identify the sharp glare of worry in his eyes. “Don’t try and talk, Peter. You’re going to be okay.”

“T-Tony-”

He doesn’t know if he’s alive. He needs to know- 

Something sharp pricks his arm before the thought can finish. It’s welcoming at first, but he can’t help being afraid. 

Everything fades like it never quite existed in the first place. 

And if Tony is dead, if it’s his fault, he wants it to stay that way. 

\----

The next time Peter wakes up he’s in medbay. 

It’s familiar. _Too_ familiar, he would argue. The cotton sheets, the sharp smell of antiseptic. The pressure of needles poking into him and oxygen in his nose. 

He’s laying on his stomach, so there must be something wrong with his back. Whatever it is he doesn’t feel the pain yet, which is nice.

Every thought is murky and distant. With eyes still closed he searches desperately for them. Steve was there, he thinks. Rhodey and Natasha too. He had been scared. Had run for something. Or from something?

A bomb. 

Tony. 

The fear returns in a fatal swoop. Somewhere in the distance he hears his heart rate monitor spike. He squeezes his eyes closed further, not wanting to wake, not wanting to face a reality without Tony in it. 

Tears pool in his eyes. 

He’s no stranger to mourning. 

“ _Peter?_ ”

The voice is muted in his panic, almost unreachable, though he knows in all reality it must be close. It stops his hyperventilating short, his chest burning as he refuses to draw in air. 

Then he hears it. Another heartbeat. 

“Peter. Open your eyes bud.” 

_Bud._

For once in his life Peter listens, his landscape blurring with tears. Sure enough, Tony is there, laying beside him on his own bed, so close that they could reach out and touch if they wanted. His mentor looks terrible, the skin on his arms and neck bandaged to cover what could only be burns. But he’s awake and sitting up. 

_Alive._

“Is this real?” Peter whispers. He doesn’t move an inch. If it’s a trick, or some drug-induced vision, he wants it to be permanent. 

The world pauses on its axis. 

Tony wipes a tear off Peter’s cheek. 

“This is real.”

And Peter knows it’s true. 

“Tony,” he gasps, unable to manage anything else through the thick knot in his throat. His heart monitor goes crazy again. More tears escape him and he shoves his face into the mattress to stifle a sob.

A heavy weight falls off his back. The relief is dizzying. 

“Don’t cry kiddo. You’ll make me cry.”

“I’m- I’m sorry. I’m not trying too-”

Tony shakes his head with a soft expression on his face. “You’re pumped full of painkillers. I don’t blame you.”

“ _You’re alive_.”

It almost sounds like a question. 

Tony’s face melts into something dark for a moment before turning into a small smile. It looks like regret, Peter thinks. Or guilt. “Yeah kiddo. I’m alive. So are you.”

“What happened?”

Tony straightens his posture and tilts up his chin as if to dramatize the story. “Well, firstly you decided to disobey three high level Avengers to run into a building that was about to explode.” 

“Sounds like me,” Peter agrees weakly. 

“You got me out but as soon as we crossed the warehouse boundary it triggered the bomb to detonate. We got caught in the blast.”

Peter swallows thickly. “Are you okay? I thought. I thought-” but he can’t finish. Can’t even imagine vocalizing it. 

_I thought you were dead._

“I’m okay,” Tony says too quickly. There’s pain in his eyes. Raw, unresolved. “You took most of the damage when you covered me with your own body. You managed to push us far enough away to escape most of the explosion. A couple steps back and we wouldn’t have made it.” 

Peter knows Tony well enough to know what he’s thinking. “Is this where you yell at me about self-preservation?” 

The sound Tony makes is almost a laugh. Almost. He shakes his head. “I thought for sure it was over,” he murmurs. “It’s not fair you had to make that choice.”

“We’re family.”

A pause and Tony has to wipe at his own eyes. He looks away, puts up a shield. “I know, kiddo. But your life is more important than mine. Always.”

Peter shakes his head sadly. “Tony-”

“ _Always._ ” 

“No, no. That’s- that’s not true _._ ” He tries to prop himself up on his elbows and winces when it hurts. “We accept the love we think we deserve, you know.”

Tony stills at this. “What?”

Peter furrows his eyebrows, afraid he said it wrong in his drugged state. “We accept the love we think we deserve.”

Bottom lip trembling, Tony looks away. When he speaks, his voice is barely audible. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Mmm. English class. It’s from a book we’re studying.”

“It’s nice.”

Peter nods his agreement, letting his eyes droop for a second. But no, this is important, so he forces them back open. “I think you deserve a whole lot of love,” Peter says quietly. “In fact we all think that. So just let us give it to you, okay? Believe it too.”

Tony leans back on his pillows and digs his hands into his eyes. “Wow, kiddo. Anyone tell you that you’re getting wise lately?”

“I’ve always been wise.”

“Mhm. Whatever you say.”

Peter smiles, something reconstructing inside of him. “Thank you for what you said over the com,” he says. “Before everything went crazy.”

“I meant every word, kid. You’re family, no doubt about it. And that’s- that’s why I was so scared. It’s why I’m always scared. You mean too much to me to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me.”

“Pete-”

“I’m wise, remember? Would I lie?”

Tony huffs out a smile. “I suppose not.”

Peter feels the drugs hold over him, wanting to drag him back under. He reaches his arm out to Tony who accepts it in his own. “We’re okay,” he mumbles. Finally, his eyes slip closed. “It’s over now.” 

Time passes and Peter drifts on the surface. He feels Tony rubbing small circles against his knuckles. 

“Love you, kiddo,” he hears Tony say after a while. His mentor’s voice is more gentle than he’s ever heard it before. He must think Peter is asleep. 

Good thing he’s always full of surprises. 

“Love you too,” he murmurs without hesitation. It drains the last of his energy and this time, he’s not afraid to let go. He falls asleep to the sound of Tony’s soft laugh. 

It’s healing. A fresh start. A future. A family. 

It’s been a long journey, Peter thinks. 

And he wouldn’t change a thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT CRYING YOU ARE!!  
> Okay... maybe it is me who's crying haha. 
> 
> Where do I even begin?? It's funny how after writing nearly 40,000 words for this fic I can't seem to articulate the ones to say how grateful I am. I've loved posting on here every day. I've loved interacting with you all and making so many new friends. Your comments and support and love have seriously made this month so much brighter. You've made me a better writer, you've made me smile and cry (in a good way lol). Just, wow. THANK YOU. From the bottom of my heart thank you. This ending is bitter sweet for me, but there's good things ahead I promise :) 
> 
> I've never been good at goodbyes, so lets not make it a goodbye!! You're all so amazing. I truly, truly mean it. I couldn't have done this without you. This is just as much my story as it is yours. I hope you enjoyed this conclusion. Please lets stay friends!!! Please!! Come talk with me on tumblr: @polaroid15 if you want <3
> 
> Alright friends. There's so much more I could say but I don't want to keep you forever haha. I LOVE YOU. SO SO SO SO MUCH. I AM GRATEFUL FOR YOU. And as always, I hope you're having an amazing day <3 
> 
> It's been a long journey, but I wouldn't change a thing :) <3
> 
> Love, Polaroid15


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